Reflections: To Amanda, in Kindergarten
The littlest version of myself that I've seen on this journey needs so much nurturing, tenderness, quiet and hope. I have a deep longing to try to care for her now.
When you try your best, but you don't succeed
When you get what you want, but not what you need
When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse
And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
-Coldplay
The last stanza of this song has been circling my mind for quite some time now. I mean, the whole set of lyrics above have hit me right in the heart. It feels so real. Palpable. Possible.
I didn’t know it would ever feel like that.
Well, let me back up.
The last time I thought about the littlest version of myself was too many years ago to count. But during the intensive trauma processing I’ve spent the last several months committed to, she’s shown up time and time again - with reminders, requests, and eye opening moments of things she needed but never received. Patterns she created to survive that I still rely on. Patterns, that are much overdue to release.
So here we sit - metaphysically together, and I see in her all of the things I feel most scared and vulnerable about. I feel so sad for her, for the masking she had to do, for the way that she had to navigate an adults world as just a little girl. But I also feel intense protective pride that she did. That she figured out how not to drown in a world that desperately tried to sink her.
August 1991
Dear sweet girl,
When you look into the mirror tonight while you brush your teeth and then your hair, remember the reflection you see is yours to own. By now, I know people have already said hurtful and embarrassing things about your body, about how to be more presentable, about how to be more palatable, and I know those thoughts have burrowed deep inside of you - not just in the way you see yourself, but in the way that you feel, that you act, that you respond to the environment around you. Please, try to forget them. I know you can’t, not really, but they end up staying for so long and taking up so much space in your heart - and that makes me ache with you.
I want to start by promising you this - you’re going to be okay.
It’s not going to happen for a really long time, and that’s awful, and I’m so so sorry, and I desperately wish I could make it different or better, but I can only look back and warn you from here. You’ll be deep into your adulthood before you recognize that many of these words and these beliefs were never even yours to begin with.
But tonight, I want you to take an extra inhale.
Once you’re under the covers with your flashlight and your stuffies, I want you to know that you are safe there, in that space, in your body.
I want you to know that you do the absolute best job of holding onto that feeling however you can.
I am so sorry it’s so heavy to carry.
I’m so sorry that it’s terrifying.
But I also need you to know that you are doing the absolute best job in the world. A+ for sure; hang it on the fridge of your adult home type work. You will grow and change, but for a while, things will only get harder and more intense. You’ll find temporary supports in many different places - but what you believe right now, that you’re too much, that you need too much, that people will leave you because of it - it’s only situationally true. You carry this through too many years, and when you found real security you should’ve been able to release it, but it was too ingrained by then.
It’s not your fault.
Not that, not any of this.
You haven’t done anything wrong.
That’s almost part of the problem. You’ve really never done anything wrong. You’ve really never upset anyone deeply. You’ve really chosen at this tender age to protect others, to keep quiet, to be shy, and as you grow you will start to invest your truths in teachers and mentors - and they help carry you through for a long time. You, for all intents and purposes, have been the perfect child. But nobody has noticed. And that’s just heartbreaking. So I want you to know that I noticed. I remember. And with my whole heart I want to thank you.
Right now, I wish more than anything that you could look into that mirror and just feel silly and playful and strong and safe. I will never not hate that your experience was so vastly different than that. I will never stop wishing that you got a do-over.
But what I can do is tell you this - you are loved.
It might not always feel that way, but you are, right now in this minute. I can tell you that I believe in you, because I’m living proof of how strong you stayed. You are brave, but you don’t want anyone to know. You don’t have any of the words yet. And that’s okay. I don’t expect you to. Sweet girl, I’d never expect anyone your age to have to have the words.
I’m reaching out in this letter to hold your hand. To tell you that essentially, I will always be with you, this future version of us who is just now for the first time trying to emerge in present day as complete and somewhat whole, and that you make it to this day, even when you are sure you won’t.
I know that every minute of every day you did your best. And sometimes that was just enough to slide by, somewhat unnoticed. I recognize now that you struggled so much to ask for what you needed, and you always take less than you deserve. This isn’t fair, love. And someone should’ve stood up. Someone should be standing up for you right now.
Instead, you have me, now.
It’s been hard. It’s going to get much harder. But one day, you’ll know you’re brave enough (and desperate enough) to do the real work.
And in that work, lights will guide you back home to me.
And I will do everything in my power to try to fix us.
I love you.
You will be okay.
A
January 2025