Some of the Most Important People in My Life Are People I Haven’t Spoken to in Years.

I know it sounds contrary, doesn’t it?— But think about it.

How many people were witnesses to your becoming that you no longer speak to?

For me, it’s plenty. I have no shame in admitting that I’ve lost a lot of people I was once close to as I’ve grown. It’s a sign of living, of changing— like a sponge absorbing all it can before being wrung out to absorb again.

You shouldn’t judge yourself too harshly if you’ve been through the same.

When I say the most important people, I mean the ones who gave me hope when I was young.

People who showed me there was a future worth believing in, even when I couldn’t see past the day I was living.

People who gave me space and showed up for me when I didn’t think I deserved to take any up— when I was so young, so raw, and so pained.

I wasn’t damaged goods. I wasn’t unworthy.

I was just doing the best I could with what I knew at the time.

It doesn’t mean the memories I made with people are in vain because they’re no longer in my life.

It doesn’t mean I wasted my time.

And it surely doesn’t mean the weight of their existence in my life means any less just because we grew up and moved on.

In my darkest times, sometimes the love, kindness, and acceptance I experienced back then still feels just as real as when it first graced me.

We live in timelines, but love defies all of time— and stays with us forever.

One of the hardest things I ever did was give up plenty of good, stable things in the pursuit of something greater— the blind faith that I am destined for something more.

Blind faith has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever embraced.

It’s absolutely heartbreaking to let go of something that wasn’t necessarily bad.

Was it selfish?

Will I regret this later?

Did I make the right decision?

But I know this— I do not thrive in complacency.

I do not do well where I’m merely surviving.

And I sure as hell know that nothing is worse than the inner banter of wishing for something more while trying to explain yourself to people who will never get it. 

God, that is the worst.

Accepting that you don’t need to be understood is hard, but it is so freeing.

I don’t share my inner thoughts online for acceptance or even to be understood.

I share to capture my state of growth, and to hopefully instill some goodness in others— to help someone else feel understood, even if I rarely do.

I’m not afraid to wear my heart on my sleeve.

I’m not afraid to go on and on about the hardest experiences I’ve been through.

I’m not afraid to follow my fear and alchemize my pain.

I will forever be more afraid of staying the same— of living in Groundhog Day— of never experiencing life beyond the limits my generation and the ones before me have always known. Fuck that.

But I wouldn’t have that strength had I not been shown love when I didn’t think I deserved it.

And that’s why I say: to the people I haven’t spoken to in years—

Thank you for showing up for me when I could barely even show up for myself.

Now, I stand in the doorway between the innocence of where I came from and the strength of where I’m going.

I will forever remember the strength you passed to me— and the light you kept alive when I was in the dark.

I’m no longer the teenage girl I was, but she still lives on in me.