A Letter to My Inner Child

Some letters are written to lovers. Some are written to the ones who broke us. But this one? This one is for her, the little girl I used to be.
The one who was told to be quiet. To be strong. To forget. I wrote this letter with shaking hands and a bleeding heart.
I’ve carried a lot of pain in silence. I’ve carried things no child should ever have to… Sexual abuse trauma. Grief. Abandonment. Betrayal.
And yet somehow, I became this confident, loud, full of light, emotionally aware woman with a heart full of fire and a voice I won’t shut off – not for comfort, not for approval, not for anyone.

She deserved softness, not survival. So this letter is my way of giving her back everything she was denied:
Truth. Love. Protection. Power.
If you’ve ever felt like no one came for you… This one’s for you, too.
Read it if you’ve ever had to raise yourself. Read it if you’re ready to speak to your own inner child.

Hey little one,

I don’t even know where to begin… but I guess I’ll start here:
I’m so fucking sorry.

I’m sorry no one saw how deep your hurt ran.
I’m sorry they mistook your silence for obedience.
That they ignored your tears, your shaking hands, your brave little smile.
You were just a kid, and you carried shit most adults couldn’t even handle.
You were never supposed to be so strong that early.
But you were. Because you had no choice.

And I hate that for you.

I wish I could go back and scoop you up, muddy knees, messy hair, wild little heart…and whisper:
“None of this is your fault, baby.”
You didn’t deserve the yelling, the blame, the guilt dumped on your tiny shoulders.
You didn’t deserve the shadows that fell on you behind closed doors.
You didn’t deserve to be touched, shamed, or silenced.
You were soft. You were magic. You were trying.
And they didn’t protect you.
So you built walls instead.

Then, just when you thought maybe it would get easier,
You lost the man who was your everything.
Your dad.
Gone before you even got to say goodbye properly.
Before you understood what grief was,
it had already pitched a tent in your chest.
And later, the man you gave your heart to…
He left you, too. Or worse, stayed, but stopped loving you in the way your soul needed.
So you learned to stop asking.
To be your own damn hero.

But listen to me now, little one.

You don’t have to keep carrying their mess.
You don’t have to shrink to fit anyone’s idea of who you should be.
You don’t have to earn love by being useful, sweet, or small.

You’re not here to please.
You’re here to fucking live.
Loudly. Wildly. Fully. Unapologetically.

And guess what?

I see you now.
I hear every little whisper you tucked away.
I remember the way you escaped into books (that made you so smart) and fantasy,
Created whole worlds in your mind just to feel safe.
You made magic out of nothing.
You survived the kind of loneliness that turns people to stone.
But you didn’t turn to stone,
you became the fire.

Now look at you.
A woman with storms in her voice and galaxies in her chest.
Confident. Glowing.
A light so fierce, it could burn down every lie they ever told you about yourself.
You are not shame.
You are not what happened to you.
You’re what grew in spite of it.

You’re fire wrapped in softness.
You’re a healer who had to bleed first.
You’re a powerful woman who came from hell and made it look like a garden.

And from now on, it’s my job to make sure you feel safe, loved, and held.
We cry when we need to.
We scream when we’re not heard.
We laugh loud as hell.
We protect our peace and independence like warriors.
We rest. We create. We love like fire.
We’re not anyone’s doormat, scapegoat, or secret shame.

You’re my girl.
My little wolf pup (yes, Wolf, your spirit animal and guide… is in our bloodline).

No more begging.
No more bending.
No more bleeding for people who wouldn’t even hand you a damn bandage.

I’ve got you.
Forever.
Through every shadow, every sunrise, every sunset.

Repeat after me, little one:

You are honest.
You are confident.
You are empathetic.
You are kind, without being naive.
You are powerful, even when you feel broken.
You are allowed to take up space.
You are allowed to be loud.
You are allowed to rest.
You are not a victim.
You are a force.

With all my heart,
Daniele
(But you can still call me Dani if you want, little one) ♥

“Pretty, pretty please, don’t you ever, ever feel like you’re less than fucking perfect” ♥