An Actual Love Letter

I hope you write one for yourself.

I struggled with what to write about this week. Recently, I’ve felt a little behind with the progress I want to make. I got Covid in March and took six weeks to recover. Work was busy this quarter. I spent a lot of time on an application. And I’ve been traveling the past few weeks. Paradoxically, though some of this has felt depleting, it’s also been a gift; I’ve had some moments for deep reflection and opportunities to grow through challenge.

I’m working on putting ego aside, allowing my feelings to be real and present and kinetic without identifying with them. I’m maybe 30% of the way there. But already I’m noticing how this practice actually brings me closer to my most vibrant Self. I thought this would be a good time to share a letter from Love that I wrote for myself back in January. Essentially, the idea is you write a letter to yourself from the perspective of “Love” - or whatever encompassing power you relate to, if any - and see what comes up (credit to Elizabeth Gilbert for the idea - check out her Substack for more letters!). If this resonates with you, I encourage you to try this practice for yourself; it’s been more than a little healing for me. Read on below.

I love the parts of you that you are too afraid to call to the surface. 

The parts you don’t trust. The ones that make your gut recoil in shame. 

The doubter, who so badly wants to seek truth and show up for others. 

The rebellious teen who never actually rebelled in high school but is so done trying to want what others want for her. 

I love the little girl who tried to protect her loved ones from themselves. 

I love the way you write with intention, seek authenticity, speak from the heart, and do hard things, even when they’re scary. 

I love when you risk getting it wrong. When you fail. 

I love you in your deepest moments of identity-rattling embarrassment. 

I love you when you are too afraid to speak up. 

I love you when you feel like you should know something but don’t. 

I love you when you’re afraid to challenge authority. I love you when you say how you feel. 

I love you when you don’t make progress with running or your career or writing. I love you when you do. 

I have no secret standard of measurement or code that you must figure out. 

I love you when you eat carrots and when you eat Nutella. 

I love you when your socks have holes and you don’t have art on your walls or enough seats in your home for everyone. 

I love you when you don’t have the energy to recycle. 

I love you when you prefer being alone, and when your chest aches with the desire to be held. 

I love you when you miss a stop sign and say “sorry” out loud. 

I love you when a friend hurts your feelings and you agonize for hours about how to tell them that that hurt. 

I love you when you hide the cover of a book you’re reading because you’re embarrassed. 

I love you when you run out of gas before you can make it to the cheapest gas station. I love you when you plan ahead and prepare. 

I love you when your hair is so thick the only way to tame it is a tight bun at the base of your neck. 

I love you when you drive instead of walk, or walk instead of drive. 

I love you when you try to make eye contact with someone and they don’t look back. 

I love you when your heart is broken and you close the bathroom door so no one can hear your quiet sobs. 

I love you when you share your story and sit in the holy silence of someone else’s revelation. 

I love you when you remember you have value. I love you when you forget it, too. 

I love when you let me in to hold your hand and curl up with you in your favorite armchair. When I nuzzle you with my warm affection and you breathe from your belly and let everything be seen. 

I love when you let me stroke your hair, and together we listen to a crow’s caw and the hum of a low airplane. 

I love when you let your muscles be heavy and your eyes be wet, when you write with an earnest urgency to connect, and when you allow your pen to rest because it is all already here.