Dear Little Girl,
I see you.
I see you standing in front of that mirror
Small, confused, hurting
Trying to understand
Why the people who were supposed to love you
Were the first ones
To teach you how to hate yourself.
I see you pulling at your clothes
Trying to hide your thighs,
Trying to cover your stomach,
Trying to make yourself smaller
Not because you were too much
But because they made you feel
Like you were.
I see you sitting at the table
Watching what you eat
Not because you were unhealthy
But because someone's eyes
Were always watching,
Always judging,
Always finding fault
In the body that was still learning
How to simply be.
I see you crying in the dark
Not because you were broken
But because you were tender
And the world was not gentle
With your tenderness.
And I am so sorry.
I am sorry that the first voices
You ever heard about your body
Were not voices of love
But voices of shame.
"Too fat." "Too thick." "Too much."
Words that carved themselves
Into your bones
Before you even knew
You had the right to disagree.
I am sorry that you learned
To look in the mirror
And see a problem
Instead of a miracle.
I am sorry that you spent years
Years
Apologizing for the space you took up.
Shrinking.
Hiding.
Disappearing
Piece by piece
Until you almost forgot
Who you were before they told you
Who you should be.
I am sorry that no one told you
That your thighs were not too thick
They were powerful.
That your arms were not flabby
They were strong.
That your stomach was not too big
It was alive
Breathing, feeling, holding you together
When everything else fell apart.
I am sorry that no one told you
That your body was not a mistake.
It was not a problem to be solved.
It was not a flaw to be fixed.
It was and always has been
A miracle.
A miracle that breathed.
A miracle that moved.
A miracle that carried you
Through every storm,
Every tear,
Every moment you thought
You would not survive
And still you did.
You survived.
And I need you to hear this
Really hear it
Deep in the bones they taught you to hate:
You were never fat.
You were never ugly.
You were never too much.
You were never the problem.
They were.
The voices that told you otherwise
They were wrong.
Not a little wrong.
Not accidentally wrong.
Profoundly, devastatingly, unforgivably wrong.
And you
You beautiful, tender, fierce little girl
You deserved better.
You deserved hands that held you gently.
You deserved eyes that saw you wholly.
You deserved voices that whispered:
"You are perfect. You are enough. You are loved."
And since no one said it then
I am saying it now:
You are perfect.
You are enough.
You are loved.
Not despite your body
But because of it.
Because it carried you here
To this moment
Where you are finally learning
To see yourself
Through eyes of love
Not shame.
I know the road was hard.
I know the mirror was cruel.
I know the voices were loud
And the silence was louder.
I know you ate in shame.
I know you dressed in hiding.
I know you laughed too loud
To drown out the voice inside
That whispered: "You are not enough."
I know you loved others fiercely
Because you hoped
If you loved them enough
They would love you back
In the way you never learned
To love yourself.
And I know
That even now
Some days are still hard.
Some mirrors are still cruel.
Some voices are still loud.
But I need you to know
That little girl you were
She was not broken.
She was not ugly.
She was not too much.
She was extraordinary.
She was resilient.
She was sacred.
And she grew into a woman
Who carries storms
And still stands in the sun.
Who bleeds
And still blooms.
Who was taught to hate herself
And chose slowly, bravely, painfully
To love herself anyway.
That is not weakness.
That is the most powerful thing
A human being can do.
So I am reaching back
Through all the years,
Through all the tears,
Through all the mirrors
That lied to you
And I am taking your hand.
And I am saying:
I see you.
I love you.
I am sorry it took so long.
But I am here now.
And I will never let anyone
Including you
Call you anything less than sacred.
You are not what they called you.
You are not what you called yourself.
You are not the sum of their cruelty
Or your own shame.
You are the woman
Who survived it all
And chose to rise.
And that
That is the most beautiful thing
I have ever seen.
I love you, little girl.
I love you, brave woman.
I love you all of you
Every scar, every curve, every story
Every beautiful, powerful, sacred inch.
You are enough.
You have always been enough.
You will always be enough.
With all the love you deserved from the beginning
Your Older, Wiser, Healing Self