A therapist once asked me, “If you could write a letter to the girl you were when the bad things got going in life, how old would you be, and what would you say?”
I wrote a long letter and felt I “completed” my assignment oh so well.
I lied. I was a liar in that moment. I think, without intending to do so, I lie a lot still today.
“Oh, yes. I’m fine, thanks.”
“I had a nice day at work.”
“Gosh, that traffic I sat in on the way home from work was the worst.”
Liar! You Are Lying. Real answer, “That extra 30 minutes in the car in the traffic that I spent alone, I cried… and cried… and cried.” I needed that 30 minutes, and I wish it had been 45.
Here’s the authentic letter, as opposed to messaging my middle school self and telling her all the reasons why she should be secure in herself and future, which I had lifted from some magazine, or counselor.
“Hey, Jenny. Hold on tightly to your pillow and run.” Keep it simple for her because she’s only three, maybe 2, no convoluted message, no opening for misinterpretation.
“Just run little girl. Run.”