One Year Later

Dear Me, If you’re reading this, it means a year has passed since the day I stood up for myself — shaking, scared, exhausted, but still standing. Right now, I’m barely holding it together. My body’s a knot of stress. My mind is loud and cruel and relentless. I feel like I’ve been fighting a war no one sees — with myself, with management, with the systems that keep telling me I’m wrong just for existing the way I do. I’m about to go into the appeal meeting — the one where I’m expected to prove that I’m not a failure, not lazy, not broken. And even though I know it’s not true, their words have sunk into me like poison. I’ve started to question everything: my memory, my effort, my sanity. But if you're reading this now… it means I made it. Maybe it went well. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe things got better, or maybe they got worse first. I honestly don’t know — and the not-knowing is ******* me. But what I do know is that I told the truth. I showed up with everything I had. I advocated for myself when no one else did. I demanded humanity from a system that tried to make me disappear. I hope — no, I believe — that one year later, you’re in a better place. Maybe you're still healing. Maybe you're still tired. But I hope you're somewhere safer. Somewhere softer. Somewhere that feels like you again. If things changed — even a little — I want you to pause and thank yourself for today. For the hours you spent building evidence, for the courage to name what hurt, for the words you strung together when you could barely breathe. If things didn’t change, and you had to leave — I’m still proud of you. I’m proud you protected your peace. I’m proud you walked away from what didn’t serve you. That’s still winning. Please promise me this: Don't ever forget how brave you were. Don’t forget how hard this was. Don’t forget that even when it felt impossible, you showed up anyway. You are not defined by this job. You are not defined by their perception. You are defined by your resilience, your compassion, your voice, your fight. Take a breath, future me. Look how far we’ve come. With all my love, Tobias (Who showed up for us — even when it nearly broke him)