Today I wrote a letter. I had to. It’s been 20 years or more and I didn’t want to leave the words caged a day longer.
Opening the floodgates for the words to flow was, in fact, the hardest part of the exercise. Once I allowed it, the emotions sprang forth quite boldly, as if perhaps that was their destiny.
My letter (which I burned instead of posting), was one of PERMISSION.
Permission to be. Just be.
Permission to fail.
Permission to try.
Permission to shape shift.
Permission to outgrow.
Permission to shine.
Permission to fall apart.
Permission to hedge.
Permission to ask for help.
Permission to express pain and fear.
Permission to desire.
Permission to disappoint another.
Permission to detour.
Permission to rest.
Permission to go off in a direction that no one understands.
The fuller-bodied girl who I wrote the letter to knows all these things now but back then, gosh….back then, she was so very caught up in her quest of the veneer of being “nice” that the Levis 501 wearing fox pressed pause on her ability to live freely, authentically, wildly.
I ended off my letter by saying,
Darling, if only you could see yourself through my eyes, you would know that “perfection” is over rated. You would also know that you are enough. So bloody enough! ALL parts of you are okay. Not one of the parts you’ve guarded, veiled, denied, concealed and curated so carefully are “bad”. So, please do fall apart, deviate, desire, dare to disappoint. Do go to the darker-shaded parts of yourself. Visit a while. Let them guide you. They are there to show you little avenues you may otherwise never venture to explore. And, we do know that you love a good bout of exploration. Bon Voyage! P.S. Your butt looks great in those Levis!
© A Heart Full of Stories, 2017