Dear Friend,

You look fine.

That’s the part that annoys me most. You show up, smile politely, throw in a joke to deflect, and everyone thinks you’ve got it together. But I know you’re running on fumes. Not just physically. The kind of tired that makes your bones feel like concrete and your thoughts like traffic. You keep trying to out-hustle your own sadness, like maybe if you stay busy enough, the ache won’t catch up.

But it always does.

You’ve been dragging the weight of things that should’ve been released a long time ago. Old guilt, broken promises—some his, some yours. The patterns you swore you’d outgrow. The second-guessing. The explaining. The oversharing followed by the shame hangover. You see yourself doing it, even as you’re doing it. That’s not weakness. That’s awareness. And that means you’re not stuck. Not really.

You just don’t trust yourself yet.

So start there.

Not with some massive morning routine or twelve-week self-reinvention spreadsheet. Start with stupidly small things. Water before caffeine. A walk around the block, even if you’re still in last night’s clothes. Wash your damn face. Feed yourself like someone you like. Not because these things will magically fix your life—but because they are how you learn to stop abandoning yourself.

Respect isn’t always a grand declaration. Sometimes it’s just not skipping the basics.

You know when you’re spiraling. You feel it. Your voice gets high. Your stories get longer. Your laugh gets louder. That’s your body asking for permission to pause. So give it space. Let silence enter the room without rushing to fill it. Not everyone needs to understand you. And anyone worth keeping won’t require a PowerPoint of your pain.

Self-sabotage wears nice disguises. Overplanning. Overthinking. Avoiding the hard thing by doing a hundred small, unimportant ones. You don’t need more time. You need to stop calling it preparation when it’s really fear in a productivity costume.

You want to feel seen? See yourself. Say one kind thing to yourself out loud. Yes, out loud. Write down one thing you did today that was slightly better than giving up. Stop waiting for some magical version of you to show up. This is it. This is who you have. And she’s been through hell.

Give her a break.

Closure is a fantasy. You will not get the apology that finally makes it all click. You will not be able to make it make sense. Some people never grow up. Some relationships rot quietly in the background. Let them. You don’t need everyone to understand your healing to begin it.

Here’s a fact no one tells you: Strength doesn’t look strong while it’s happening. It looks like crying in the bathroom, then finishing the email anyway. It looks like showing up to the workout, doing ten minutes, and leaving. It looks like saying no, then spending the next hour convincing yourself it was the right call.

You don’t need to be inspiring. You need to be honest. With yourself, first.

So no, don’t make another life plan that’s secretly just a guilt-management tool. Start small. So small it’s laughable. Keep that promise. Then keep one more. Stack those. That’s how trust is built. Not through declarations. Through receipts.

And while we’re at it, stop chasing people who can’t meet you. If someone wants to be in your life, they won’t need a reminder. Let them drift. It’s not your job to carry people who are content to watch you drown.

You are not a project. Not a list of “when I finally’s.” You’re not waiting to be enough. You’re already there. Even in this messy, half-baked, inconsistent version of yourself—there’s worth here. There’s proof.

You made it here.

That’s something.

Now, show up for yourself. Again. And again. And again. Especially on the days it feels pointless. Especially when no one else claps. That’s when it matters most.

Love,
Me