Daily Post’s writing prompt: “From You to You.” Write a letter to your 14-year-old self.
My dear sweet 14-year-old self,
You are precious. I know you don’t know this or feel it in your heart, but it is the truth. In fact, you don’t even understand what this means. Please know that your parents love you in the only way they know, which means little physical contact and only rare compliments, lest you develop a “swelled head.”
What you are going through right now, no one should have to go through, least of all a fourteen year old girl who has just started to blossom. I see how you’ve withdrawn into that walking body cast that you must wear until your spine gets fixed, and no one knows how long that will be. Could be months or years.
All you know is that one day everything was great, you were finally a teenager and the boys were all looking cute, and the next day it all stopped. And now everything feels bad, or worse than bad.
I want you to know that I see how awkward and freakish you feel. You can’t wear “regular” clothes or participate in most school activities. You always feel embarrassed about how you look. And you are profoundly sad and lonely, neither of which are being addressed by anyone, including you.
I say all this, not to make you feel sorry for yourself, although some of that is perfectly normal. I simply want to validate your reality and speak it out loud.
If I could, I would give you the biggest, warmest hug all the way around that stupid old cast. I would look into your eyes and tell you what a magnificent human being you are, as well as an adorably cute and feisty young lady!
I would drag you out to see a movie and get root beer floats at Merkle’s drug store and go watch the ducks in the pond at central park.
Most of all, my kind and brilliant 14-year-old self, I would make you laugh again, as much for me to hear it, as for you to feel it.