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Dear Future Me,
You’re reading this in July 2025. I hope the sun is out, your heart is soft, and your spirit still feels tethered to the version of yourself writing this—because she’s proud of you already.
Right now, I’m standing in the middle of a slow but sacred transformation. The kind that doesn’t happen with fireworks, but with quiet truths and brave decisions. A year ago, I was constantly in motion—flights, distractions, full calendars. I thought all that movement meant I was growing. And maybe I was, in a way. But I was also trying to outrun something I hadn’t yet learned how to sit with: myself.
Now? I’m sitting with her. I’m listening to her. And I finally see that the stillness I once feared has become the space where I actually feel alive.
One of the deepest truths I’ve uncovered is this: Most of us were conditioned to bond over shared habits, not shared truths. That realization cracked something open in me.
For so long, I mistook proximity for connection. I thought having people to go out with meant I was loved. I thought shared routines meant deep friendship. But I’ve learned now that depth looks different. It’s in the conversations that leave your chest warm. It’s in the way someone holds space for your soul, not just your schedule. It’s in the kind of friendship where you don’t have to perform—you just get to be.
I’ve spent this past year untangling myself from dynamics that no longer serve me—not because anyone was cruel, but because the version of me they were built around no longer exists. And I’ve done it with love. With boundaries. With grace. I’ve realized that redefining a relationship isn’t abandonment—it’s alignment.
And now, the people coming into my life reflect the version of me I’ve fought to become: grounded, reflective, emotionally honest, and creative in spirit. I’ve stopped shrinking. I’ve stopped chasing. I’ve started to choose—with intention, with love, and with a deep trust in myself.
Yes, there are still lonely days. Yes, I still get pulled into work or distraction sometimes, especially with ADHD. But even in the quiet, even in the stretch between where I am and where I’m going—I feel whole. And that’s new.
If you’re reading this in a moment of doubt or uncertainty, please remember this:
You don’t have to be everywhere to be enough. You don’t have to be understood by everyone to be worthy. You don’t have to keep the old to prove your loyalty. You’re allowed to grow past what once felt safe. And most of all: You are not behind. You are not too much. You are not lost. You are becoming.
You’ve worked so hard to unearth the truest parts of yourself. Don’t rush this part. The people, the experiences, the art, the joy—it’s all unfolding exactly as it should.
And even if you don’t feel it right now, I promise: You’re doing so well. You are so deeply loved. And I am so proud of you.
With all my heart, Me (April 2025—you, untangling, becoming, alive)
You’re reading this in July 2025. I hope the sun is out, your heart is soft, and your spirit still feels tethered to the version of yourself writing this—because she’s proud of you already.
Right now, I’m standing in the middle of a slow but sacred transformation. The kind that doesn’t happen with fireworks, but with quiet truths and brave decisions. A year ago, I was constantly in motion—flights, distractions, full calendars. I thought all that movement meant I was growing. And maybe I was, in a way. But I was also trying to outrun something I hadn’t yet learned how to sit with: myself.
Now? I’m sitting with her. I’m listening to her. And I finally see that the stillness I once feared has become the space where I actually feel alive.
One of the deepest truths I’ve uncovered is this: Most of us were conditioned to bond over shared habits, not shared truths. That realization cracked something open in me.
For so long, I mistook proximity for connection. I thought having people to go out with meant I was loved. I thought shared routines meant deep friendship. But I’ve learned now that depth looks different. It’s in the conversations that leave your chest warm. It’s in the way someone holds space for your soul, not just your schedule. It’s in the kind of friendship where you don’t have to perform—you just get to be.
I’ve spent this past year untangling myself from dynamics that no longer serve me—not because anyone was cruel, but because the version of me they were built around no longer exists. And I’ve done it with love. With boundaries. With grace. I’ve realized that redefining a relationship isn’t abandonment—it’s alignment.
And now, the people coming into my life reflect the version of me I’ve fought to become: grounded, reflective, emotionally honest, and creative in spirit. I’ve stopped shrinking. I’ve stopped chasing. I’ve started to choose—with intention, with love, and with a deep trust in myself.
Yes, there are still lonely days. Yes, I still get pulled into work or distraction sometimes, especially with ADHD. But even in the quiet, even in the stretch between where I am and where I’m going—I feel whole. And that’s new.
If you’re reading this in a moment of doubt or uncertainty, please remember this:
You don’t have to be everywhere to be enough. You don’t have to be understood by everyone to be worthy. You don’t have to keep the old to prove your loyalty. You’re allowed to grow past what once felt safe. And most of all: You are not behind. You are not too much. You are not lost. You are becoming.
You’ve worked so hard to unearth the truest parts of yourself. Don’t rush this part. The people, the experiences, the art, the joy—it’s all unfolding exactly as it should.
And even if you don’t feel it right now, I promise: You’re doing so well. You are so deeply loved. And I am so proud of you.
With all my heart, Me (April 2025—you, untangling, becoming, alive)
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