LETTERS TO MY YOUNGER SELF: PART 1

Over the last month of June, I have sat to reflect and re internalize why I started writing in the first place. I think in honest truth I wrote to tell myself the words I wish were told to me every time I faced the conflict in interest as I wrote.

This next half of the year, here and there, we shall reinternalise our habits and tune ourselves to look inwardly and work towards making whole what was in half.

Dear Boba,

Do we even want this anymore?

Success, defined for us, was beautiful homes, accolades, and achievements.

Making the list or gaining applause for working hard enough to even be worthy of it.

It was titles that left people I even probably had no interest in knowing impressed.

It was being above the statistics, proving the doubters wrong and proving the small arena of believers right.

But, the more I unravel from the weight of all the worlds and wounds within me, as I heal all of the fears of never belonging, as I whisper the language of love and acceptance to the little girl still inside me;

The less I actually care, the less I desire the accolades. The less I rush to pursue after the next big thing without gratitude for what I have right here, the less I fawn of acceptance of those I esteemed above me.

Because the more I heal honestly, the less my ambition defines me.

Love,

B.