A letter to myself.
What if you didn’t get the childhood you deserved? Not in a, my parents never took me to
Disneyland and I never got a pony kind of childhood, but the kind in which no one was really there for you, no one was there to comfort you if you had a bad day, or were struggling to understand, whether it was math problems that confused you or why your friend was moving away, no matter how much you were going to miss them. Sometimes there’s childhood betrayals on an even more devastating level, with things that no human should ever have to experience, and yet, there you were, small and helpless, and forced to walk a very fine line of pleasing others in order to stay alive.
And then, something incredible happened- you stayed alive. You learned some incredible
coping skills to do it, whether it was learning that there was no one else to depend on but you, and becoming hyper independent, or learning that the only way to stay ok is to know what other people want, maybe even before they know, and now you can read and respond
subconsciously to anyone around you. Maybe it’s so ingrained that if someone were to suggest that you were doing it, you might not even have noticed it. Or, maybe it’s something that bothers you. Doing these survival strategies uses a lot of energy. Like, a lot a lot. But what can you do, except to keep burning your candle at both ends, not asking for help, staying on high alert making sure no one needs anything, making sure there’s no possible way you could be vulnerable.
The question then, is: how do I ask for help with feeling better, when asking for help is exactly what feels unsafe? There’s maybe a part of you that feels really frightened with what it might mean to let someone know that you’re struggling. And there’s maybe another part of you that is so tired of the status quo that it’s almost ready to snap, and that thought can be frightening. That part of you has been holding it down, getting it done, keeping things running for a long time. That part knows what’s up. It knows what to do, and I bet, that part of you, this Normal Life, Business As Usual, Everything is OK part, could do a really good job of talking to that other part of you who is frightened, who worries What If, and says I’m Afraid. What would that Normal Life part say? How could it make the I’m Afraid part feel even a little better? What could change? Making a friend with that little scared voice, telling that small part, hey, it’s ok to ask for help, we’re safe now, we can go slow. It’s alright to ask for help. I know it’s scary, I will keep us safe. Make friends with that part of you. Sometimes we call it ‘reparenting,’ or ‘befriending,’ but it’s not the label that makes a difference, it’s the relationship with ourselves, the comfort and safety we can give to that part of us that’s scared.
Sometimes therapists suggest to write a letter to your younger self. What could you say, if you could go back and see yourself as a kid? Writing that letter is a chance to have a moment to look in on that time when you were struggling and maybe felt alone, or mad, or like no one cared anyway, and let them know that you care about you, that you will take care, that things turn out alright for both of you. What if, just for a minute, you could look at yourself, and hand over a little bit of hope? It can be incredibly healing to start to be our own best friend, to listen to those messages when they pop up and help ourselves to re-learn a new way of being, of understanding ourselves, and where these come from, because I suspect they come from a place of wanting to protect you from any kind of harm. How can you offer hope, help, and make friends with yourself? They might like to hear from you.
Dear Me:
Things are hard right now and I see you. Everybody’s kind of dipped on you, and that wasn’t
alright. Your family that’s left, they are trying, you’ve got ballet, gymnastics, ice skating piano, writing workshops, and all the AP classes you can handle. You’re doing all the things! And everyone loves it, everyone loves what you do, how helpful you are, how smart you are. But who are you if you’re not the overachiever? What then? I think that’s why you always wanted to be pretty- pretty was about who you are, and not what you do. Pretty is you, pretty is something so intrinsically yours that’s for you and not for anyone else. Pretty makes you happy, not them. But hey, you can either be smart or pretty. Smart girls don’t need to wear makeup, and definitely not red lipstick. Pretty is who you are. Writing is what you do. Being beautiful, that’s you, for you. Helping, that’s for them, it’s for others, it’s what matters: help others, do for others, be everything for others. Don’t ask for help, and definitely don’t be lazy. But I know that what you really learned was, ‘do unto others, so that they don’t have a chance to do unto you.’ No one can put you down, no one can call you lazy, everyone will love and appreciate you for what you do, because what you will do everything, and without that, who you are is kind of worthless.
You never learned your worth and I’m sorry. No one ever told you that you were still kind, and smart, and so so good, and most importantly that people will love you even if you weren’t ‘doing’ anything,’ and I’m so sorry, because you are so full of worth, and I didn’t know I needed to tell you this before. You have such love for others, such a heart for helping, and so much desire to protect the people you love, and that’s got such value. You also don’t know when to quit, when to ask for someone else to take over, when it’s ok to trust, and I’m going help you learn that, and I am going to start by giving you permission to take a rest. To tell you that it’s not lazy to be pretty, and it’s not unforgivable to ask for help. That you don’t have to do anything to earn love. I’m proud of how hard you work. I know it kept you safe. And I want you to know it is also going to be safe to let others help you, that they will understand, and they will give you what you need. I promise I will make sure we are safe. You are so incredibly loved and infinitely safe.
And you’re like, really pretty.
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