I know a letter isn’t enough. Words all sound the same to you right about now. Words of encouragement become white noise behind the pain you’re feeling.
I wish this letter could reach you as you finish your lunch in a bathroom stall. I know how deep your fear goes. Years later, I still hear echoes of your insecurities.
You’re still sorting through who you are and why your brain works the way it does. You still think that there’s something broken, something you’ve done that needs to be fixed.
Lift your head up, darling. Life doesn’t end here. Those lines of mascara on your face won’t last. Someday it will hit you–after years and years of slowly crumbling insecurities–that you are worth it.
Someday their laughter will fade in your memory. That boy who made you feel small will be long forgotten. You will realize that the voice and value you were always waiting for were there the whole time.
Just wait a little longer. I promise things will start to make sense. You’ll know what it means to believe that you are loved for all that you are. One day you’ll be sitting on your dorm room floor–your heart filled to the brim with a joy you can’t even put into words–because everyone you passed that day knew your name.
Whether you leave scars with a knife or with words–lay those weapons aside. There is joy ahead for you. There is more than the pain you are in. There is more than that tiny school bathroom.
Someday you will know the feeling of speaking and being heard.
I’m a few chapters ahead and I wish I could send this letter back to you. Someday your heart will feel safe. I wish I could show you everything you can’t see yet.
God does not forget about the girl crying in the bathroom.
Take a deep breath and walk to your next class, your next social event, your next trial, with your head held high. You might not believe me now, but someday you will.
Sweet one, if you’re reading this, your story isn’t over yet.
~ ~ ~
a note to my dear readers: please feel free to like, share, subscribe, or join the conversation on any post that impacts you. Your voice is an encouragement to me and to others, and it’s as much a part of this story as mine.