I want to offer you a small gift. It may sound like a canteen, rattling with the metallic clang of empty words. And that is okay. Nothing I say can ever presume to guess how you are feeling at this moment. That would be far too arrogant. Just know that behind any word I have to offer is a lifetime of dust-ups, scrapes, bruises and even more failures, losses, and the occasional two-by-four beam that flattened my frame. Just know, I have felt the sting of abandonment, confusion and grief.
Please consider my thoughts with no expectation from me.
There’s nothing wrong with you, despite how it feels right now. There is nothing abnormal about who you are. You aren’t broken or incomplete. You don’t need to be fixed or repaired. You are a complete and whole person. Even if you feel abandoned or are abused, you are not broken. You are not a mistake.
Even if you have one more breath, you have one more moment worth of life. I believe in you, even if you don’t.
The universe believes in you, and one day, perhaps sooner rather than later, you will believe in yourself.
There is no way I or anyone else can grasp how difficult your path has been. Very likely, your path has been far more difficult than mine. However, I can speak to my own life journey, and what I can say with certainty—life, even at its most rock bottom and irresolute darkness, isn’t the end of the world—it is, in fact, the beginning of life.
Some people will tell you that every broken thing in life can be fixed. We both know that some damage is irreparable. So, I won’t pretend otherwise. But even the pain that can’t be magically fixed, I have found, can be carried. You might even be surprised to find friends who are available to help carry debris that is too heavy to carry alone.
I love who you are right now. You are a perfect, fully formed being. And I love who you will become.
There will be changes, plenty of them, for sure. Still, you will be a perfect, fully formed being. If you can hold onto a hairline thin thread of truth about your worth, I promise, no matter the pain, healing will happen.
A smile will soon crease your face and your heart, and you too will feel the irrepressible lightness of being.
And it will it will ring like a bronze gong in a sunrise sky. It will echo against hard, granite cliff sounding like something new, sounding like hope.
Finally, I ask that you hold onto this letter ’til it’s yellowed, creased and tattered with age. Open it again and again, on all your dark, rainy days. Read this letter till it falls apart, so you may walk forward into the rest of your days, helping others in their struggles, gifted by your words and deeds.
Your Secret Friend