A beautiful unravelling.
A letter to Someone Like Me.
A letter to Someone Like Me.
Dear —
You know who you are.
I don’t need to name you, although there is no shame in being ‘outed’.
I see through you not because I’m out to get you, but because I understand you.
There is no need for secrets here.
I see me in you — and perhaps vice-versa.
That’s why we’re here.
Someone like you, someone like me, someone like us
is bravest not when we are fearless, but when we have the courage to admit that we are fearful.
Darling, let down your armour.
That is ‘real’ bravery.
I want to tell you the truth. I want to tell you my truth. I want to tell you that it’s been hard lately.
I want to tell you that it’s been really, really hard, and that I’m tired.
Just for a moment, I want to break.
I want to be allowed to break.
I want to be allowed to break, and to know that I’ll be okay, but also that I don’t have to be okay. That there are other options. That I don’t always have to be the strong, brave and resilient one. That I can be sad and weak and confused and overwhelmed and just as capable as I ever have been. That, just this once, I don’t have to be okay. And that, just this once, I don’t have to be alone with this.
And, hell, maybe always.
Let’s start as we mean to go on.
Every day is (or can be) a new beginning.
Every moment is (or can be) an opportunity for reinvention.
I am, we are, we can be, many things.
I love you. Don’t forget it.
And I am so fucking proud of you.
Remember this.
I am proud of you not for doing, but being.
Just for being here, still, with me. And just for being here, still, with yourself too. These moments, few though they may be, are precious to me. They do not have to be few and far between.
And beyond this — thank you for being here for me.
I love you endlessly.
SURRENDER.
Breathe.