to the little girl who is the reason I am in therapy now

To the little girl that had a 

Disney Princess birthday 

party despite not liking 

Disney Princesses,

I want to tell you- 

I do not like them either.  

Dresses are overrated. 

So is diplomacy- 

but the movies never 

showed that part of the life. 

Chances are Cinderella 

would not know how to handle 

a peace treaty if she tried. 

Do not blame yourself for 

not being able to handle your 

own diplomatic relations-

Parents are not supposed to 

be countries that need treaties 

anyway. You are not their 

princess they use to make the 

country work. Your existence 

is not to fix issues- you cannot 

be made into a bandaid for 

their festering infection. 

 

To the little girl who tried 

to find law books in the 

small public library,

You will not be able to find 

your answers there. I know- 

I tried. And I found the books too! 

There is no law saying two 

parents have to get along-

No rule against forcing a 

relationship that was already 

boiling over. Do not try and 

settle it- do not try and move 

the pot. You will only get burned. 

I know you want to be able to 

handle the situation calmly 

and correctly, but honey, 

an 8 year old does not make 

a good mediator. Drop your 

mother as a client and lock 

your office doors. The pay 

will never be good enough 

for that kind of work load- 

You will never be able to 

not take it home. 

 

To the little girl who never 

had friends in class, but 

still preferred to be alone 

at school rather than be 

alone at home, you were 

not alone at home. I know 

it did not feel like it, but 

you always had your family 

there to talk to. I will not lie, 

sometimes I feel like mine 

are not there for me too, but 

never believe it is your fault. 

It is not because they do not 

love you- love is not measured 

in conversations or hugs. Love 

is whoever is willing to clean 

up the blood when you skin 

your knee, whoever is willing 

to pick you up when you fall. 

Love yourself, sweetheart, 

because there will always be 

a time when you are bloody 

on the ground and it is up to 

you to stand. Standing 

sometimes hurts, but standing 

is the first step of walking, 

and then you can move on. 

I did it- so can you. 

 

To the little girl who hoards 

books and notebooks like 

the end of the world is 

approaching, and words are 

the only currency in the 

apocalypse, I am not going 

to tell you to stop. Do not. 

You are absolutely right. 

Keep writing- keep reading. 

Keep searching for the words 

that taste just right, the ones 

that both heal and rip open 

your wounds. Some injuries 

do not heal right, and that is 

okay- cut them open and 

start again. Poetry works 

well as a scalpel and a knife, 

but not a bandaid. It is good 

for doing autopsies and 

winning wars, but it will never 

be a good doctor for a broken 

heart. Writing will help find 

words for what you feel- but that 

does not stop you from feeling it. 

 

To the little girl who wears 

depression like a warm coat 

and uses anxiety like a 

pacemaker for her heart, 

That pleasant feeling you

feel is not pleasant at all. 

You are not protected by it, 

or comforted, that tsunami 

is playing games with you- 

that hurricane is not a 

raincoat. When the teeth 

seem sweet, you need to 

find a hunter. You have a 

beast on your tail. That 

jump in your heart will not 

save you from being “lazy”, 

ripping your hair out will not 

help you lose weight. It is not 

normal to set fire to your feet 

in order to keep up with 

everyone else. Just tell them 

to slow down. 

 

To the little girl who feels 

like all through childhood, 

she has been picking up 

burning coals labeled 

“focus” and “calm down”-

It is okay to ask for help 

once in your life. It is okay 

to feel different and 

embrace it. It is okay to not 

live up to standards built by 

a system not made for you. 

It is okay. If this world is not 

made for you, make the one 

you need. Tell people to be 

quiet. Turn the lights down. 

Just because it is fluorescent 

and not solar, does not mean 

you are not burned. You do 

not have to accept suffering 

to gain respect. If those people 

were really going to respect 

you, they would do it for who 

you actually are, not the pillow 

you shoved in your spot. 

 

To the little girl who has 

stained her baby blanket 

red and swears she will 

not live to pass middle 

school, much less graduate 

highschool, you will. I 

promise you that you will. 

I am proof you will. I am 

standing on the edge of 

the future with my eyes 

wide open to the possibilities,

I am holding your hand 

as I walk on that stage, 

I am thinking of you as I 

do homework and as I 

talk to friends. I think of 

you as I take pills to treat 

migraines and as I lay 

down to take naps. I think 

of you as I lose things and 

get mad, because I know 

it was something you never 

let yourself do. I think of 

you as I look out my window, 

as I close the one in the 

bathroom instead of 

climbing outside. I think of 

you as I look up at the roof, 

because it snowed and not 

because I am judging the height,

I think of you as I get ready for 

bed and get under the covers. 

And that baby blanket? 

It is no longer red.