Dear Younger Yeiry,
I’m so sorry to have disappointed you. Growing was harder than you originally thought. Knowledge did not grow on trees. Wisdom found you only after you left the party. Independence was won after an internally bloody war.
You are not where you thought you would be.
You don’t have the square corner office, Ms. Non-Manager.
You don’t have a husband or any children to call your own.
You are not the perfect daughter you once prided your identity on.
You are not the perfect friend you once pictured yourself.
You are a mediocre sister.
You don’t write anymore.
Your creative writing has gnawed its’ own tail, bored from being chained to a tree of procrastination.
Your poetry has atrophied and all your idealism has dried up like the water reserves in California.
Not all news are bleak.
Things are way better than you originally thought.
You acknowledge your flaws now.
You know how to dress for your size.
You now longer have to memorize joke books to develop a sense of humor.
You are vulnerable and you are not weak.
You’ve built your own website and it’s pretty cool.
You’ve made a bunch of stuff and you’re super proud of it.
You have opinions and are articulate enough to be assertive.
You also know so many cool words.
You are funny.
You are self-aware enough to know when you aren’t.
You are a better daughter, sister, friend than you think.
On the outside, you’re a boss; but on the inside, you’re a softie.
You can let loved ones in on your loving, squishy, cotton candy insides.
If you believe in anything, believe that it’s going to be okay.
It will get shittier than now, but it will not break you.
Believe in me.
You are unbreakable.