A letter to my 14 year old self

Over the past few months, through therapy, journaling and other practices, I have been diving deep into myself to uncover the beliefs and patterns that run so deeply. Those beliefs and patterns that I learned as a little girl, and that have shaped my decisions and my life. Those beliefs and patterns that are, quite frankly, messing me up.

We all have them. Deep truths that we don’t even realize we carry around. Things we believe about the world, and about ourselves.

Yesterday I met with a new coach, and we did something called an emotional blueprint. Essentially, it’s a way to identify these underlying beliefs, and to get as close as possible to the source of these beliefs, so we can break them down.

Through this work, it became very clear to me that what triggered everything for me was something that happened when I was only 14 years old.

And so, my coach invited me to write a letter to my 14 year old self, to love and support myself, and also to forgive myself.

Here it is:

Michèle,

I know that you are suffering. And it’s okay.

Know that whatever you need from me, I am here. You are safe to ask for whatever you need, for as long as you need. I can see that you feel deeply hurt. And girl, I understand.

He told you nice things, and you believed him, and that’s okay. How could you have known? You loved him. You trusted him, entirely. And he let you down. He lied, and rejected you. And Michèle, you did nothing wrong. You acted out of love, by offering him your body. That is so beautiful. You have such a big heart, and so much love to give. All you did was love him. And he hurt you. He betrayed you. That’s on him.

Cry, my darling. Scream, be angry, feel betrayed. Your heart is broken, and it fucking hurts.

But Michèle, please understand that you did nothing wrong. You can’t blame yourself for how he acted. You are so young, so fresh, so innocent. How could you know that someone would hurt you like this? You couldn’t. You just couldn’t.

Michèle, I forgive you, from this feeling of shame that you carry around. I forgive you, for loving, for trusting, for giving yourself, without knowing any better. You have mistaken his want of your body for love. And I forgive you.

I forgive you for continuing to try to find love in this way, by giving your body. Because you didn’t know any better. You can stop now. Because I see you, and I love you. You are beautiful and worthy, and it’s up to you, to chose whether you give your body to someone. You are sensual, sensitive and intuitive. Those are great gifts, and they are yours to give, as you please.

I know that you are angry.

At your parents, your doctor, your therapists. It feels unfair. And no, they don’t understand. They don’t know how to help you, Michèle, but they want to. They love you, and support you. Let them.

Let them help you.

You don’t have to do this alone, little girl.

They are not perfect, and neither are you. But you are love.

So again, let it out. Fucking scream, lose your shit, get fucking mad. Cry it out.

No one is trying to fix you. Because you are not broken.

They just want to love you.

Let them.

Let me.

Let me love you, and hold you. Remind you of how beautiful you are. You are strong. You are so bright. You love so hard. And you laugh so hard.

And when you are ready, let me take you back to a place where you believe in yourself, where you know without a doubt, that you are worthy, and that you are love.

I love you,

Michèle