Dear Me

A letter to my future self.

My Dearest Future Bre,

Today is March 1st, 2024. We just experienced a week of monumental success and our therapist encouraged us to write a letter to our future self.

If you're reading this, it's the future and you’re overwhelmed with the continual hits. The opponents have you. The referee is counting 1 and 2, and you’re ready to hear three and tap out. 

I'm writing to remind you of what you can do, not based on hope but on accomplishment. You have been here before. 

It was June 14, 2021. Your family, as you had known it, began to disintegrate. You found yourself on your own. The internal decay had reached the point of no return. Amoxicillin was no saviour for such an infection. After braving a smile while tucking the five children into their beds, the infection caused you to be debilitated, falling into the mountain of laundry on the laundry room floor stupefied. The unknown was a blackout. The only knowledge was the realities of tomorrow's arrival and the five children relying on you.

Two and a half weeks later, your youngest, 23 months old, fell sick with a blood infection that kept you in the local Children’s hospital for nine days. Scrambling, you wrote a plea on social media, asking for help. Family & social media strangers opened their homes to the other four children. Being on your own, you had to make the tough choice to leave your baby in the hospital alone while you drove home, packed bags and brought two kids here and two kids there, explaining to them in gentle terms the chaos that was ensuing. The house was a catastrophe, and your Day-Home came to a grinding halt while your Day-Home families extended hands of understanding. You had $15 to your name and went without eating until Mom and friends brought deliveries. We were amid COVID-19, and the unknown added a layer of horror. As another family emergency transpired simultaneously, bringing the police to your hospital room, you kept stepping one foot in front of the other; you kept showing up. As the young kids say today, “You stood on business.”  

Three weeks later, you endured tragedy in the name of keeping your children safe, and your marriage of 10.5 years ended with no chance of reconciliation. As you go through what you are, I want to remind you that with every ending, there comes a beginning. 

The ending of your marriage was the beginning of discovery.  It showed you the power and intelligence you wield. It was the beginning of an uphill battle of trial and divorce that you would go on to win. It was the beginning of being the Mom you desired to be. It was the beginning of your self-love, which brought healing of mental and physical characteristics and the end of generational trauma. It was the beginning of feeling without trepidation. It was the rebirth of you. 

I write to inform you that you will feel your sustained hits from your opponents. You took the first step; you didn't tap out, and for that, I am proud of you. Unfortunately, the hits will be painful and for a long while. It's never a one-day quick fix, and a lesson I write to remind you of is that timing is everything. It's a lesson we don't like. A lesson we have fought back on and said, “fuck off” too. Take a deep breath; life isn't a rush. For every frustration caused by a delay, within it, you healed and went on to win. The timeline approached three years before the win happened in its entirety after 2021. Right now, you need to heal. Healing isn't linear; it wasn't from 2021-2024 and won't be now.

If you can, buy yourself a new pillow. A tool in our mental health toolbox is a ‘screaming pillow,’ and as you move through this pain, you deserve a new one. Grab onto it and release your pain into it. It threatens your well-being to keep it within the confines of your heart and shoulders. Allow the pillow to absorb your tears, your anger and your panic. 

You rescued yourself before, and you'll save yourself now. No one has the power to convince you otherwise. If anyone tries to convince you, cut them off and out of your life immediately. I give you this permission. We once cut Mom out of our life for two months. Boundaries are healthy. Our therapist taught us that our worth is not up for group discussion, and I know you need that reminder as the pain deepens to unbearable.  

You didn't give up on yourself then, and you won't now; I won't let you. 

And as I write this final sentence, the final consent to our divorce just came through!! 

We win, it's what we do. 

Xoxo,

You.