You are safe.
You are loved.
You are brave.
You are strong.
You can do hard things.
That’s the mantra I taught you since you were old enough to speak. Those are words I want you to feel in your bones and hold as unshakable truths in your heart.
When you go out into the world and you feel alone or scared or lost, I want those words to bring you hope and lightness and warmth like a hug from home. From me.
But your strength doesn’t come from me. It comes from inside you. Everything you’ll ever need is right inside. Go within. Don’t search for it in outward things, though that will feel easy.
It will feel easy to grasp at straws. Friends, boys, clothes, makeup, food, drinks, cars, likes and views. It will all give you a dopamine hit that feels good. Until it doesn’t.
Then it feels real low and you either sink with that feeling or reach out for more, or… you hear these words pulling you back up and holding on to you.
You are safe.
You are loved.
You are brave.
You are strong.
You can do hard things.
In all things, find something to be grateful for. Even though that will sound trite at times and you’ll resist it and feel like there is nothing to be thankful for. Because life is like that sometimes. It’s unfair and cold and difficult.
Everyone goes through those valleys. Some get stuck there. But you don’t have to. You can keep going. You can find the good. See the light. And keep moving forward. You can. You will. You have it within you.
You won’t always want to. You’ll want to stay and wallow and be sad. Let yourself be there, for a time. It’s okay to pause. To let yourself feel what you’re feeling. Don’t bury it (it won’t ever actually go away like that anyway, it will just fester until one day it reappears and explodes, which won’t be pretty).
So go ahead, lay down and have a good cry. Eat chocolate ice cream and watch your favorite sappy show. Get a good night's sleep. Or maybe a couple nights. A few.
Then…
You get up.
And you put one foot in front of the other.
Even if you don’t know how.
Even if you don’t know where you’re going or what you’re doing.
That’s okay. You don’t need to know. You just need to move.
You can go slow. There’s no rush. Movement is movement no matter the pace. You get to decide how fast you go. Don’t let anyone rush you or make you feel any sort of way about yourself. You got this.
And as you go, you’ll pick up momentum and it will get easier. You’ll see clearer. You’ll begin to discern which direction to go in, which path is for you.
Trust yourself. Trust your intuition - what your heart is telling you.
That’s not always easy to do. Sometimes it’s actually really hard and confusing and you’ll wish you had someone to just tell you what to do. And you might go searching for the answer. Reaching outward again. Grasping.
A lot of people out there say they have the answer. They have a black & white, 18-step solution. And you can try them all. Maybe they will work. But at the end of the day, you’ll end up right where you are, wondering why you just keep spinning your wheels.
Until you get quiet. You learn to sit with it. To sit with yourself. And listen.
Allow all the outside voices to fade away (this takes time, so much time). Just breathe and be. Allow. Allow. Allow. Feel into the sensations that come up. Allow them to come and pass through and to go. Breathe some more. Just let go for a time. See what comes up. Be curious.
This is the process that brought the mantra “I am safe” to me. I didn’t even know I needed it and it took me 40 years to realize that this whole time, my entire life, I didn’t really ever feel safe. I had made so many decisions out of fear in my life. I knew that was a pattern. But I didn’t understand why until “I am safe” slid into my mind one day. I had been operating from a place of feeling unsafe. All the time. And it had wreaked havoc on my mind and heart and body.
I sat with that for a really long time. Just letting it sit there and slowly unravel everything I had come to know and believe about myself and my life. Some things made so much sense and it felt good to finally understand. The why of those unsafe feelings is something I’m still sitting with.
Then there was sadness, for my younger self. Seeing her grow up with so much fear and knowing how unsafe she felt for so long that it became unnoticeable even to herself. She thought that was normal. Or that maybe there was just something wrong with her. And that she just had to push harder and hold on tighter and pretend so no one would see.
And it made sense. And it was sad. And it was heartbreaking.
I look back and I just want to hug her. All the different versions and ages of her. To let her know that she is safe. She is loved. She is brave and strong and can do hard things.
She can. She will.
My life, now, is just one big process of letting her know that. Reminding her over and over again of all the good. Pointing toward the light. Guiding her back to herself. Showing her what it means to trust herself again.
Or maybe, truthfully, for the first time, to fearlessly take up space.