Dear Future Me,

Dear Future Me,

I want you to remember this.

That after everything — the storms, the silence, the ache that hollowed you out — you found your way back.

Even when the world blurred and the map of your life seemed written in disappearing ink, you kept walking.

It took years.

It took tears that fell quietly in the dark and mornings when getting out of bed felt like carrying the weight of the sky.

But you did it. You came home to yourself.

There was a time when you forgot what light felt like,

when laughter didn’t reach your eyes,

when you questioned if healing was even meant for you.

But slowly, piece by piece, you remembered.

You began gathering the fragments — the forgotten parts, the ones buried under shame or fear —

and you whispered to each one: you still belong to me.

You found parts of yourself in art — in brushstrokes and ink, in the way colors bled together and still made something beautiful.

You found yourself in nature — in the steady rhythm of the wind, in the patience of trees that refused to rush their growing,

in the way sunlight filtered through leaves like forgiveness.

You began to see yourself reflected there —

not broken, not ruined — but becoming.

You learned that finding your way back wasn’t about returning to who you once were,

but about becoming who you were always meant to be.

You softened in places that once felt hardened,

you grew roots where you once only ran,

and you bloomed quietly, not because life suddenly became easy,

but because you stopped abandoning yourself.

You look at your scars now — the visible and the hidden — and you love who you are, even with them.

Especially with them.

They are proof of the journey, of how many times you’ve been shattered and still chosen to rebuild.

You learned that healing isn’t erasing the past; it’s carrying it gently,

like a story that made you who you are.

So when life feels heavy again, when the noise drowns out your heartbeat —

pause.

Take a breath.

Remember how you survived the impossible.

Remember how the ashes became soil for your roots.

Remember how you found your way back — not all at once, not perfectly, but honestly.

You found your way back to you.

And you love her now — the whole, wild, scarred, radiant truth of who you are.