A Letter to Myself...Two Years Later

Today, I stumbled across a drafted email, written to myself, on April 27, 2018. The message was timely. I hope it heals your spirit as well.


Growth isn't linear. You will not always be happy, courageous, and carefree. There will be periods of time that feel like unanswered questions; weeks that sorrow sits heavy on your chest, splitting open your ribs. You will lose yourself. You will feel like an empty shell. You will desperately make lists of the things that once made you so "you"-like, but they will no longer feel true. You will force yourself to journal, only to write "I don't know," again and again, in the margins of your notebook. Your thoughts will go darker and deeper than you've ever known them to go; you will be afraid, of everything, and everyone, and especially yourself.

And then, there will be relief. 

Warm weather; your mother stroking your hair; a tiny white pill and forgotten gospel CDs and friends that weave their fingers tightly with your own. You will look in the mirror and you will suddenly see God; black skin, brown freckles, short, nappy hair. You will laugh twice as hard, twice as loud; you will cry tears of joy. You will tattoo a sunrise on your arm and on your brother's arm and look at it every morning. You will remember the beauty of being alive. You will be worried about rent and bills and figuring out your life's purpose, but you will also let go and breathe deeply and trust. You will trust in the universe, in a Higher Power, in God, and also in yourself. And you will remind yourself that growth isn't linear; that you will cry again, that there will be months that are darker than you have ever imagined, but also that you are perennial, ever-blooming; that the sun will rise again.