Running Through It

I remember being a child in school and having to write letters to ourselves in the future. We even added mementos to the school’s time capsule. No, I never got to see the time capsule resurrected, would have been cool though. Point is, activities like this would force me to think about what a future me would look like. Remembering back on these memories, I now think of what future me would look like from beyond the present time. My 40’s and beyond…

I thought writing a future letter to myself as a blog post would be a fun little exercise.

So, here it is: A Little Love Letter to My Future Self.

First and foremost, I am so proud of you for getting to where you are today. You’ve made so much progress with your sobriety. You got through the darkness of suicidal ideation, relapsing,  and withdrawal. You left marijuana behind and forged a new life for yourself. You finally started loving yourself and putting yourself first. 

Secondly, I want you to recognize the difference your efforts have made—not only for yourself, but for others too. You are still shy at times, and that’s okay. You know better than most how difficult it is to step forward, be vulnerable, and speak your truth (especially with social anxiety).  But remember this: every time you share your story, something echoes back. Fear of failure fades, isolation is replaced by connection. A nod of understanding. A soft, whispered thank you. Small moments, but powerful ones. Let those moments hold you up. Let them carry you forward. And when you’re faced with a challenge, and you’d rather isolate, remember the lives you’ve touched simply by showing up as you are. 

You survived some scary sh!t: abusive boyfriends, cross country moves, a divorce (to name a few). Look where you are now. Loving yourself, being confident in who you are, and believing you deserve all the good that comes your way.  You don’t let others’ opinion of you control your life. You finally do not give a sh!t what other people think of you. 

I don’t know what hard things you’re facing, whether they are the ones I expect now, or others that have come up, but I know you can do anything. It’s 2036 and you’re 10 years sober. Remember the drug-fueled rage you used to feel? That part of you has been gone for a long time. You’re sober and thriving. I love you so much. 

You were born enough.