An open letter to... Myself.

Dearest love of my life,

I don’t always know what I’m doing. I get scared, and can be impulsive. I get mad and cry sometimes because I’m not always able feel and allow anger. I can get really sad, and happy and silly and even still. I hate when we fight. Sometimes I try to avoid feeling because I’m scared that I might not be able to handle all thats stirring inside. 

Im sorry… 

For changing.  
For letting the media tell me how I should look.
For being on diet after diet. 
For not always loving every inch and pound.
For blaming my body. 
For not listening.
That I let other people decide whats best for you... when only I know whats best.
For allowing others to use me up, hoping they might in turn love me.

Im really really sorry. 

I want to…

Hold you, and love you, and tell you how perfect you are. 
Protect and make boundaries to keep us safe (Im really working hard on that one). 
Feel you, even the painful parts.
Share all of our secrets (Without shame).
Be let in, and crack open. 
Travel the world hand in hand.
Know every corner of you. 
Laugh, sing, and cry. 
Be quiet with you. 
Nurture you. 
Be the mother that was never quite there in the way we might have needed. 
Honor you for loving me, endlessly.
Trust you.

I want to thank you…

For trusting me.
For staying by my side
For being brilliant, wise, and understanding.
For being hysterically funny, and talking like a 70 year old sometimes.  
For listening to every worry, thought, and impulse I’ve ever had. 
For holding me up when I could barely function. 
For never judging me when all I ever did was criticize. 
For being kind, when all I spit was hate. 
For seeing me.
For allowing me to constantly change and evolve. 

My promise to you…

Is that I will do my best to look inside when my mind tells me I need to be fixed.
To feel, even when it feels like I won’t make it though the emotional storm.
To keep breathing.
To trust, that we are enough. 
To stop pushing so hard, I know it gets tiring.
To bring compassion when all I want to do is criticize. 
To fight, against the media’s ideal of the “perfect woman”.
To honor every pound, inch, and cell of our being.
To stop doing so much, because I know just being is healing. 
To never give up on us.

You are enough. 

We are enough. 

I am enough… In the end we all are. 

Love always,
(your soulmate) 
Anna Louise Eileen Chapman