Dear Future Daughter (Vol. 2)

12/13/16

Part 1

Last time I wrote you, I told you about Joy and Despair. I told you to feel things… even when you don’t want to. Maybe even especially when you don’t want to.

This time, I don’t have a pretty little story for you. I’m sorry babygirl. Sometimes, I think of stories and go to write them down and the words don’t come.

There will be days when the words don’t come.

There will be days when the words don’t come and you will feel like your whole purpose has disappeared. You will feel distant and you will push those who care away.

On those days, pull people closer. Pull them to you so tightly you can hear the wild bird of a heartbeat raging in their chest. Pull them so tight you can feel humanity bridging itself back together.

Part two.

There will days, my angel, when the words might come but, you will wrestle with yourself to even understand if you are actually feeling the contradictions inside you. Because you are a mess of contradictions all tied up pretty with a shiny red bow. And that is okay. That is human.

It is human to be happy one second, to be eating at the table with Joy, only to find that Despair was sitting in the living room the whole time. Invite Despair to sit with you. He gets lonely sometimes, just like you.

Joy will flash him a sad smile and say “Despair, don’t you want some hot cocoa? It’s snowy and cold and grey out. We need to keep our spirits up.”

Despair will snort. “What’s the use, Joy? Do you really think that a cup of hot drink will change that it’s hard to get out of bed? And you–” he’ll whisper, turning to face you, “how did you do it? How’d you get out bed?”

Part Three.

You need to answer Despair honestly. Tell him the truth, sweetheart. Tell him about how the snow falling down so steady and light makes it easier to breathe, makes it easier to go outside because you feel the sharp intake of your breath.

Tell him how some days it’s actually a war inside your head to sit yourself up, swing your legs over the edge of your mattress, and stand. Tell him how sometimes you don’t. Sometimes, the darkness will win. And the words won’t come. And you will feel so alone.

Joy will set her hand on your shoulder now. She will sigh. Because even Joy knows that some days are hard. She knows. She fights to keep Hope around too.

Part Four.

Babygirl, keep your head up. This sounds pessimistic, but right now I am fighting. To stay afloat. To stay breathing. To stay Hopeful and smiling and holding onto Silver Linings. You’ll have those days too. You’ll have those seasons.

You will fight. Harder. Because I am a worrier, but you are a warrior. You will grasp Hope tightly and I will be there every step of the way, braiding silver linings into your hair.

You’ll be okay sweetheart. I promise you, you will be okay.

Part Five.

But don’t feel like you need to be. It is okay to not be okay, angel. It is okay to be broken and unsteady and unsure.

It is okay to feel your feet slipping under the weight of everything you are carrying. To know that on  the bad days, you need to curl up under heavy blankets and have a friend hold you together when you are breaking apart. It is okay to feel your feet give way. It is okay to feel small and insignificant.

But know that you are curled up in that bed with lies. It is time to wake up and tell the lies to leave. Tell them to get out. Tell them that they are no longer welcome, nope. Go home and don’t call again.

It is okay to not be okay… as long as you work on being okay again. Because you will be. I promise.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Part 1

Last time I wrote you, I told you about Joy and Despair. I told you to feel things… even when you don’t want to. Maybe even especially when you don’t want to.

This time, I don’t have a pretty little story for you. I’m sorry babygirl. Sometimes, I think of stories and go to write them down and the words don’t come.

There will be days when the words don’t come.

There will be days when the words don’t come and you will feel like your whole purpose has disappeared. You will feel distant and you will push those who care away.

On those days, pull people closer. Pull them to you so tightly you can hear the wild bird of a heartbeat raging in their chest. Pull them so tight you can feel humanity bridging itself back together.

Part two.

There will days, my angel, when the words might come but, you will wrestle with yourself to even understand if you are actually feeling the contradictions inside you. Because you are a mess of contradictions all tied up pretty with a shiny red bow. And that is okay. That is human.

It is human to be happy one second, to be eating at the table with Joy, only to find that Despair was sitting in the living room the whole time. Invite Despair to sit with you. He gets lonely sometimes, just like you.

Joy will flash him a sad smile and say “Despair, don’t you want some hot cocoa? It’s snowy and cold and grey out. We need to keep our spirits up.”

Despair will snort. “What’s the use, Joy? Do you really think that a cup of hot drink will change that it’s hard to get out of bed? And you–” he’ll whisper, turning to face you, “how did you do it? How’d you get out bed?”

Part Three.

You need to answer Despair honestly. Tell him the truth, sweetheart. Tell him about how the snow falling down so steady and light makes it easier to breathe, makes it easier to go outside because you feel the sharp intake of your breath.

Tell him how some days it’s actually a war inside your head to sit yourself up, swing your legs over the edge of your mattress, and stand. Tell him how sometimes you don’t. Sometimes, the darkness will win. And the words won’t come. And you will feel so alone.

Joy will set her hand on your shoulder now. She will sigh. Because even Joy knows that some days are hard. She knows. She fights to keep Hope around too.

Part Four.

Babygirl, keep your head up. This sounds pessimistic, but right now I am fighting. To stay afloat. To stay breathing. To stay Hopeful and smiling and holding onto Silver Linings. You’ll have those days too. You’ll have those seasons.

You will fight. Harder. Because I am a worrier, but you are a warrior. You will grasp Hope tightly and I will be there every step of the way, braiding silver linings into your hair.

You’ll be okay sweetheart. I promise you, you will be okay.

Part Five.

But don’t feel like you need to be. It is okay to not be okay, angel. It is okay to be broken and unsteady and unsure.

It is okay to feel your feet slipping under the weight of everything you are carrying. To know that on  the bad days, you need to curl up under heavy blankets and have a friend hold you together when you are breaking apart. It is okay to feel your feet give way. It is okay to feel small and insignificant.

But know that you are curled up in that bed with lies. It is time to wake up and tell the lies to leave. Tell them to get out. Tell them that they are no longer welcome, nope. Go home and don’t call again.

It is okay to not be okay… as long as you work on being okay again. Because you will be. I promise.

 

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