I am a big believer in letters. Mostly unsent letters. They lighten my heart-load and give me pause; they let me resolve myself and learn my own truths.
But, something like a year and a half ago, I sent a letter. I dropped in a mailbox and sped away. And it ultimately changed my life completely. It brought me the beautiful baby snoring in bed, but it also brought me soulbreak. Since then, I have lost so much of my passion and ability to be bold when it really counts.
I have been clear and honest and bold and brave: truth.
But my heart was not on the line. I had nothing to risk, and I wasn't exposing my raw raw self. I don't think I knew how to, not anymore.
In light of my resolve to, well, resolve and find closure - I tried. Oh, I tried. And in the big bright middle of trying, I realized I wanted to be that woman again.
I wanted to be the woman who wrote a letter splashed in tears and smudged with ink. I wanted to be the woman who would never give up, and never back down. I wanted to be bold.
My friend asked me if I regretted it. Then, and now.
Not at all. My cheeks might be a little red, my heart a little skipping-a-beat, my throat a little dry. But there is no regret in a life led.
I feel lighter, lifted. It isn't about the outcome, it's about the act.
Tell your story, show your cards, splay your heart, and cry your tears.
Be authentic and real and honest. There is nothing more empowering or sexy.
I have learned, and I am taught.
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