I posted a survey on my Instagram page, asking for help picking my next few blog posts. The one that stuck out to me the most? Writing a letter to my younger self. So, I’ve decided to write to the version of myself I’ve worked the hardest to heal, 19-year-old me.
Hey Alicia, or maybe you’re going by Li Li.
I’m writing to you from the future, yeah, the one you are hell-bent on saying doesn’t exist. We’re 32 now. Yeah, girl, I know.
Anyways, I could fill this with a bunch of fluff, but at this age, you’re a bit tired, always anxious, and people who don’t get straight to the point piss you off. You move quickly through everything, and you’re sharp as a scalpel. Yes, you’ve always been quick, but you’re even more brilliant in your wit, confidence, and awareness. I’ll warn you; it’s not by choice but adaptation. So, I’ll get right to it.
Mommy dies. The summer going into your 2nd year of college. It’s single-handedly the most traumatic and devastating thing you will go through so far in life, and if that’s not enough, things will spiral worse and worse and worse.
You’ll be homeless and couch surf for the summer after she passes because one of your favorite family members will betray you in a way you never thought was possible. You won’t have enough money for food or to pay your bills, and you’ll be drowning in debt for all of your 20s. You’ll survive on Doritos and McDonald’s double cheeseburgers and fries most nights because you’ll blow through your life insurance inheritance trying to keep up with your bills but never making enough to get out of the hole.
Girl………….. I know. It’s a lot. And that’s not even it.
You’ll be blessed that your mother knew the power of relationships, and your Godparents will step up and lend advice and a roof. Your friends will become the family you never had in the most traumatic years of your life. You’ll worry about those relationships in your late 20s because of your indoctrination that “blood is thicker than water” until I come along and place boundaries that bring us more peace than we thought imaginable.
You’ll lose touch with 95% of them, and I mean this with love when I say: they will not exist to you, and your life will go on… bigger and better than before.
I’m sure you’re reading this and getting pissed because you’re a firecracker. A hothead. You’ll want to cuss people out to the point that they’d want to take a dirt nap. But it won’t make you feel better, or change the traumatic shit you’ll experience back to back to back for the next 11 years.
Your brother dies. A boyfriend will betray you and make it nearly impossible for you to believe anything or anyone. More people around you will die, and you’ll start to feel like life is doing you & that you’re not an active participant.
No, really. That bitch really starts giving you hands.
But it gets better. A LOT better. With time. Something that we currently don’t believe exists. (We won’t get into that because you’ll be way too fragile to handle that kind of honesty).
You’ll pack up your life and move to Atlanta. Not with a dream for “something better,” but because you truly will try to kill yourself if you have to spend another minute in that toxic ass city and environment.
You’ll start to take your healing seriously. You’re going to really dig into therapy after nearly a decade of going. It’s going to get tough, and you’re going to try to hit the emergency exit button twice. God’s not going to let you out that easily, though. You’ll be hospitalized in the psych ward three times, and the third time will be the charm. You’ll finally tap into the true essence of us that you have run away from for so long.
You’ll finally fulfill a long-time dream to go to Paris, and it will be the most transformative thing we feel in a while. It’ll give us the push we need that allows you to let go and for me to come forward and carry us into the following chapters of our life.
Truthfully, I’m proud as fuck of you. You take that trauma and turn it into something. You become the definition of getting it out of the mud. And baby, the pride and proudness never go away.
You’re going to hustle as if your life depends on it. Because it does, and you won’t regret a single thing you do because it all pays off. (Don’t worry, you won’t compromise your morals, and you’ll be haunted by dreams of Mom watching everything we do, which prevents you from drawing too much outside of the lines.)
You’re finally that writer you’ve always wanted to be. You’re going to stop chasing the “notoriety” of writing and hot takes and settle into the understanding that essential things are heard at the right time.
Because of that, you will be a lot closer to the chest, and that hotheaded nature will disappear. But don’t worry, everyone will still respect us. We also have a lot less to say these days. You save your deep thoughts for your blog, inner circle, and romantic partner.
All in all, things get bad, and they get better and better. So while life has hands for a little bit, you ultimately become the winner.
I’m proud of everything you did and will have to do to get us to this point, but I want you to know that we’re good now. You can relax and accept that the version of you is appreciated and will NEVER be forgotten.
To the better and best years of our life to come. LOVE,
Alicia Renee
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