A letter from Apr 15, 2025

Dear FutureMe, Dear Me, Right now, as I write this, you’re in a strange place—somewhere between healing and hurting, between letting go and still holding on. It’s been just over a year since the breakup, but it lingers in ways you didn’t expect. You scroll through dating apps, but nothing feels right. You compare, you wonder, you ache for something that once felt like home. Some days, you accept that he’s gone. Other days, you catch yourself hoping for something that deep down, you know won’t happen. But here’s what I need you to remember: You chose this path because you knew in your soul that staying would have meant giving up parts of yourself that you weren’t meant to lose. You didn’t leave because you didn’t love him—you left because you knew love alone wasn’t enough to build the life you wanted. And that was never an easy choice. Maybe you still wonder if you made a mistake. Maybe, even a year later, there are nights when you miss him so much it physically hurts. But I hope—more than anything—that those moments are rare now. I hope that when you think of him, it’s with a quiet gratitude for what was, rather than a longing for what could have been. I hope that you no longer feel trapped in the past, but free to move forward without the weight of what ifs holding you back. And I hope that, after another year of living, you have proof that love—real, deep, soul-filling love—was never just a one-time thing. I hope that, in this past year, you’ve lived. Truly lived. That you’ve explored more of Florida, discovering little coffee shops and hidden trails. That you’ve walked through the Disney parks on your days off, not just as a trainer, but as someone who still finds magic in the small things. That you’ve laughed with friends over dinners, and maybe even cried with them too—because life is still messy, and that’s okay. I hope you’ve traveled. That you stuck to your goal of seeing a new place each month. That you finally took that first trip out of the country, even if it wasn’t Europe yet. That you stood somewhere unfamiliar and thought, Wow, look at me. I never thought I’d be here. I hope you’ve grown in your faith. That you’ve spent more time with God—not just in the heavy moments when you needed comfort, but in the quiet, normal moments too. That you’ve learned to trust Him more, to see His hand in both the doors that opened and the ones that closed. That you’ve let go of seeking validation from others, and instead found confidence in knowing that you are enough as you are. And I hope you’re stronger now. Not just physically (though I hope you’ve stuck with the gym, because remember? You wanted to reclaim that space for yourself). But emotionally. Mentally. I hope you’ve built a life that feels like yours—not a life shaped by fear, or regret, or the ghost of a love that’s no longer here. I hope that, when you read this, you realize that you survived the hard days. That you made it through every tear-filled night, every lonely moment, every painful reminder. That the love you lost didn’t destroy you, but shaped you into someone even more capable of receiving the kind of love that will stay. And if, somehow, you’re still struggling—if some days still feel unbearably heavy—I want you to remember this: You don’t have to have it all figured out yet. Healing isn’t a deadline. Growth isn’t linear. But you are so much further than you were a year ago, even if you can’t see it yet. So keep going. Keep choosing yourself. Keep building the life you deserve. And please, don’t ever forget: You are worthy of a love that stays. A love that meets you where you are and walks with you into the future, not one that forces you to shrink into a life that was never yours to begin with. I am so proud of you.