Dear Anjelica, I am writing to you first and foremost to tell you how much I love you and miss you! You have heard the story over and over, when I was pregnant with you I dreamed of a little girl with long eyelashes, curly hair and rosebud lips. And when you were born with all those features, I was filled with a love so strong, so fierce, so all-consuming I swore to protect you from all of life's adversities. Yet, I was not able to protect you from your final demise, the cancer that ravaged your very heart, your very breath. Stealing your life away, no matter how much we fought. We never had "final" words with one another, we never wanted to admit defeat and we carried that torch of hope, right to the very end when you slipped into the twilight zone of death's inevitable grasp. I never had a chance to tell you, as my first born, that you hold a place in my heart so deep, so strong, a place that will always remain a part of me, even now that you are physically no longer here with us. And how proud I was and still am of you. You were a fierce and independent young woman, forging your own way in the world. I never had the chance to tell how absolutely grateful I am that we got to spend Christmas 2020 and your birthday together, wine and chocolate tasting, exploring the Biltmore House together, watching you make homemade cinnamon rolls that were the best we've ever had. How much you had matured and grown, and how well we got along. Only to have life sweep you away so swiftly, in a mere ten months you were here and gone. I was blessed to have been able to care for you and remain by your side daily through those long days of hospital stays and bedrest in our little apartment on the upper east side. I thank God and Goddess alike I could be a nurturing mother to you once again. Thank you for choosing me as your mother, Anjelica, I am honored to have been the one to love you and support you during your journey here on this Earthly plane. Holding you close, loving you forever, Mom
My dearest little girl you’ve been through a lot, with beatings from mum, to being the scapegoat of our family, to not being heard or respected. You made a vow to yourself, many years ago you would be the best person you could be and not spread toxicity to the next generation. You are doing that Sherri and you e become the mum and human being you’ve always wanted to be and still learning. It took you years to do your deep inner work, which will never end and it’s made you more loving and capable of accepting people the way they are and not the way you want them to be. The biggest lesson in life is “it’s not all about me!” “I rise by lifting others”. And here you are little Sherri participating in the Isolation Journals 30 day writing treat. A gorgeous, creative, and supportive community that I’m in! Hooray! Sherrirose.
I have dipped trepidatiously into and quickly out of journaling since we started -- my black journal sits on my dining table with pen at the ready and there seems to be a paradoxical force field around it: one that begs me to get my words out and the other equally potent force that is too afraid... asking me to keep living at the surface b/c it’s safer. I wrote a bit just now as I was pulled by the Ruby crown kinglet’s musical in the neighbour’s cedars -- then I read your words about fear and of course they were THE words I needed to read. I’m 52 and sitting here thinking I don’t even know who I am anymore in this strange world -- I too have grown afraid of the world and my ability to navigate it. Here, I am safe -- I know this to be true. And even if I know none of you, their is an indescribable presence of safety and comfort and belonging here; thank you -- for someone who has a belief that I’ve never been great at friendships I feel like I can drop that narrative here. {{exhaling }} 🤎
Isn't that what we all want, to be welcomed "home" with no shame or blame but with a delicious meal sprinkled with compassion and hope? How delightful to read about Laredo, where people have made this a reality. I (no transition here) wrote a letter to my first kiss...I read that he had recently died, and the words poured out of me. A sadness I have yet to let go of, has hung over me since the reality of his demise came to my attention. I did write to his daughter and told her of memories of his life as a boy/young man. I did not include anything that would embarrass her, just things like the clubs he was in, in high school, things our families did together, and other pieces of his life I was sure she didn't have. She thanked me and said he had talked of our family often and how important we were to him. during our three years located in the same place. (We were military families) Endings are hard.
Dear husband of mine, though you have been deceased for 25 years and though we were married for 22 years, and though you never touched me all that time , and though you adopted my 4 little babies and though you supported the family for all that time and though you bought us a house that i am now selling, and though i felt the fact that you never touched me was a form of abuse, I am now just starting to realize the struggle, the pain, the incompetence, the sadness that you might have been experiencing, And Me? Oh me i was the great actress of all time, laughing and happy, and pretending all was just fine. So now on this day or rather in my last days on this earth, I want to thank you for the good things you did and tell you that I understand what you must have been going through and it's okay.
Welcome home. You are safe. What beautiful, comforting, life-sustaining words. Thank you for sharing your experience with us, Suleika. Thanks too for this prompt and for the reminder about writing into fear. I’ve been wrestling with some personal family stuff, petty stuff I don’t want to get pulled down by, and both the letter writing and journaling with fear will help me get out of my own tangled head.
Thank you for your pilgrimage to Laredo. Your visit must have been received with grace and appreciation.
Being the recipient of services from local protective services for women who find ourselves in these circumstances, I know first-hand of the power and support these agencies and the angels inside provide.
There is nothing scarier than walking up those gray stairs, peonies smiling at me from flower boxes, with my my heart in my throat, that I’ve ever done. Into a place, received with compassion and the most gentle care, such a gift.
My goal is to get to the other side, then help empower other women to take those first, frightening steps into the unknown in order to survive.
Thanks Suleika for sharing your story in Texas I have a lot of memories there family, and a place where my mom would find rescue for us, we stayed with family members, and yes many years of my Mom going back to my Father would only turn into more abuse. My Mom finally left my father, but to only find herself into another type of abuseful relationship. Sadly, tragically my Mama was in a fatal accident today's prompt I choose to write ✍️ her a letter of all the things I never got to say. On another note: it took many years.. to find peace, mercy, and forgiveness to my father I'm glad I did for my own mindset, and well-being. 🙏🏼 With much grace, Ann
The reminder that when we have the opportunity to share ourselves with groups that it is not about us is very helpful as I prepare for an in person presentation. And then having the prompt about letter writing and thinking about writing and receiving letters reminded me of the practice of mailing a letter to myself.
What I appreciate from Suleika and the prompts is that something touched me, reminded me, went deeper than the words intended.
The universe keeps reminding me too, especially this month that i can walk through my fears. I too have had a powerful reminder this week that compassion for another, being of service to others, simply showing up, is the quickest path out of my own fear and self protection. That’s the letter I’m sending to myself in my journaling for the rest of this month. The reminder to listen more to what truly sustains us. A memory of love and laughter. The reaffirmation of our own resilience and strength. Thank you for this beautiful post and prompt today. The synchronicity is astounding to me.
Hope and a sense of safety ❤️ really lovely to read about Laredo. Such a beautiful prompt too, I've particularly loved the letter-writing prompts in the journaling month. In March I celebrated a ten-year anniversary, and how I marked it was to write a letter too - ten things I've learnt from ten years together, ten ways I've grown and changed, ten things I hope for from the next ten years, ten moments that stand out... and so on. About to take out my journal and do the burning building one 😊
Thank you, Suleika. Writing has always helped me think, process, grieve, worry. I wrote letters to my teenage children when I didn’t think I could reach them with speaking. And when my husband and I had differences, I would write letters to him and leave them in the bathroom. Now I am writing “into my fear” (letters to myself) about taking new risks in my life. Like you, it helps to rememberer my intention. Writing gives me that clarity and courage.
A "tears in my ears" morning, reacting to Suleika's journal invitation today. Lying in bed, the simple words "Welcome home. You're safe here," and tears began to flow... realizing again that home never felt safe, never was safe -- it only looked that way. What would it have felt like to be truly safe at home?
So many years in therapy, so much education and life experience, struggle and effort. Yet the path to freedom, self-esteem enough to believe I deserve (no one can tell you, it must be felt) seems elusive, unobtainable. 66 now and still hungry to breathe freely or feel worthy, both surprised and disappointed that I still stumble. A lifetime spent untangling emotional barbed wire. Home was the last place I wanted to be, and all roads, all life challenges lead back.
Still standing, still hopeful, though discouraged in this particular moment, and grieving.
I do not have a picture, rather letters embedded deeply. My mother died when I was six and was in and out of treatment for several years prior. Over the summers, we stayed at a small guest house away from the cities heat. One of the staff was named Clementine . She and her mother were from Belgium. After my mother was gone, life was difficult Clemmy wrote to me often, loving letters-just as a mother might- I was very young but these letters meant so much to me that decades later I am tearful with gratitude.
In reading this prompt, I realized that I am now the family elder; the stories I know exist in my power to pass to my children and their cousins. If I don't write them down and send them to the next generation, they die. So I revived my love for letter writing today, and I feel the urgency of telling them a richer, robust narrative of their family history . WhenI I die, the letters will endure, and the memories will remain vibrant. I pray that they will inspire future generations,
I was really close to my great-grandmother growing up. When I left Cuba without my parents, she became my second mom. As time went on and I began to live my life, I moved to the Midwest and my family was still in Miami. When she was really sick, I booked a flight to go see her, knowing that she may not have much time left. Sadly, I missed seeing her alive by a few hours. I think I’ll write to her.
Dear Anjelica, I am writing to you first and foremost to tell you how much I love you and miss you! You have heard the story over and over, when I was pregnant with you I dreamed of a little girl with long eyelashes, curly hair and rosebud lips. And when you were born with all those features, I was filled with a love so strong, so fierce, so all-consuming I swore to protect you from all of life's adversities. Yet, I was not able to protect you from your final demise, the cancer that ravaged your very heart, your very breath. Stealing your life away, no matter how much we fought. We never had "final" words with one another, we never wanted to admit defeat and we carried that torch of hope, right to the very end when you slipped into the twilight zone of death's inevitable grasp. I never had a chance to tell you, as my first born, that you hold a place in my heart so deep, so strong, a place that will always remain a part of me, even now that you are physically no longer here with us. And how proud I was and still am of you. You were a fierce and independent young woman, forging your own way in the world. I never had the chance to tell how absolutely grateful I am that we got to spend Christmas 2020 and your birthday together, wine and chocolate tasting, exploring the Biltmore House together, watching you make homemade cinnamon rolls that were the best we've ever had. How much you had matured and grown, and how well we got along. Only to have life sweep you away so swiftly, in a mere ten months you were here and gone. I was blessed to have been able to care for you and remain by your side daily through those long days of hospital stays and bedrest in our little apartment on the upper east side. I thank God and Goddess alike I could be a nurturing mother to you once again. Thank you for choosing me as your mother, Anjelica, I am honored to have been the one to love you and support you during your journey here on this Earthly plane. Holding you close, loving you forever, Mom
My dearest little girl you’ve been through a lot, with beatings from mum, to being the scapegoat of our family, to not being heard or respected. You made a vow to yourself, many years ago you would be the best person you could be and not spread toxicity to the next generation. You are doing that Sherri and you e become the mum and human being you’ve always wanted to be and still learning. It took you years to do your deep inner work, which will never end and it’s made you more loving and capable of accepting people the way they are and not the way you want them to be. The biggest lesson in life is “it’s not all about me!” “I rise by lifting others”. And here you are little Sherri participating in the Isolation Journals 30 day writing treat. A gorgeous, creative, and supportive community that I’m in! Hooray! Sherrirose.
I have dipped trepidatiously into and quickly out of journaling since we started -- my black journal sits on my dining table with pen at the ready and there seems to be a paradoxical force field around it: one that begs me to get my words out and the other equally potent force that is too afraid... asking me to keep living at the surface b/c it’s safer. I wrote a bit just now as I was pulled by the Ruby crown kinglet’s musical in the neighbour’s cedars -- then I read your words about fear and of course they were THE words I needed to read. I’m 52 and sitting here thinking I don’t even know who I am anymore in this strange world -- I too have grown afraid of the world and my ability to navigate it. Here, I am safe -- I know this to be true. And even if I know none of you, their is an indescribable presence of safety and comfort and belonging here; thank you -- for someone who has a belief that I’ve never been great at friendships I feel like I can drop that narrative here. {{exhaling }} 🤎
Isn't that what we all want, to be welcomed "home" with no shame or blame but with a delicious meal sprinkled with compassion and hope? How delightful to read about Laredo, where people have made this a reality. I (no transition here) wrote a letter to my first kiss...I read that he had recently died, and the words poured out of me. A sadness I have yet to let go of, has hung over me since the reality of his demise came to my attention. I did write to his daughter and told her of memories of his life as a boy/young man. I did not include anything that would embarrass her, just things like the clubs he was in, in high school, things our families did together, and other pieces of his life I was sure she didn't have. She thanked me and said he had talked of our family often and how important we were to him. during our three years located in the same place. (We were military families) Endings are hard.
Dear husband of mine, though you have been deceased for 25 years and though we were married for 22 years, and though you never touched me all that time , and though you adopted my 4 little babies and though you supported the family for all that time and though you bought us a house that i am now selling, and though i felt the fact that you never touched me was a form of abuse, I am now just starting to realize the struggle, the pain, the incompetence, the sadness that you might have been experiencing, And Me? Oh me i was the great actress of all time, laughing and happy, and pretending all was just fine. So now on this day or rather in my last days on this earth, I want to thank you for the good things you did and tell you that I understand what you must have been going through and it's okay.
Welcome home. You are safe. What beautiful, comforting, life-sustaining words. Thank you for sharing your experience with us, Suleika. Thanks too for this prompt and for the reminder about writing into fear. I’ve been wrestling with some personal family stuff, petty stuff I don’t want to get pulled down by, and both the letter writing and journaling with fear will help me get out of my own tangled head.
Dearest Susu,
Thank you for your pilgrimage to Laredo. Your visit must have been received with grace and appreciation.
Being the recipient of services from local protective services for women who find ourselves in these circumstances, I know first-hand of the power and support these agencies and the angels inside provide.
There is nothing scarier than walking up those gray stairs, peonies smiling at me from flower boxes, with my my heart in my throat, that I’ve ever done. Into a place, received with compassion and the most gentle care, such a gift.
My goal is to get to the other side, then help empower other women to take those first, frightening steps into the unknown in order to survive.
Love you,
Marcy on the mend ❤️🩹
Thanks Suleika for sharing your story in Texas I have a lot of memories there family, and a place where my mom would find rescue for us, we stayed with family members, and yes many years of my Mom going back to my Father would only turn into more abuse. My Mom finally left my father, but to only find herself into another type of abuseful relationship. Sadly, tragically my Mama was in a fatal accident today's prompt I choose to write ✍️ her a letter of all the things I never got to say. On another note: it took many years.. to find peace, mercy, and forgiveness to my father I'm glad I did for my own mindset, and well-being. 🙏🏼 With much grace, Ann
The reminder that when we have the opportunity to share ourselves with groups that it is not about us is very helpful as I prepare for an in person presentation. And then having the prompt about letter writing and thinking about writing and receiving letters reminded me of the practice of mailing a letter to myself.
What I appreciate from Suleika and the prompts is that something touched me, reminded me, went deeper than the words intended.
The universe keeps reminding me too, especially this month that i can walk through my fears. I too have had a powerful reminder this week that compassion for another, being of service to others, simply showing up, is the quickest path out of my own fear and self protection. That’s the letter I’m sending to myself in my journaling for the rest of this month. The reminder to listen more to what truly sustains us. A memory of love and laughter. The reaffirmation of our own resilience and strength. Thank you for this beautiful post and prompt today. The synchronicity is astounding to me.
Hope and a sense of safety ❤️ really lovely to read about Laredo. Such a beautiful prompt too, I've particularly loved the letter-writing prompts in the journaling month. In March I celebrated a ten-year anniversary, and how I marked it was to write a letter too - ten things I've learnt from ten years together, ten ways I've grown and changed, ten things I hope for from the next ten years, ten moments that stand out... and so on. About to take out my journal and do the burning building one 😊
Thank you, Suleika. Writing has always helped me think, process, grieve, worry. I wrote letters to my teenage children when I didn’t think I could reach them with speaking. And when my husband and I had differences, I would write letters to him and leave them in the bathroom. Now I am writing “into my fear” (letters to myself) about taking new risks in my life. Like you, it helps to rememberer my intention. Writing gives me that clarity and courage.
A "tears in my ears" morning, reacting to Suleika's journal invitation today. Lying in bed, the simple words "Welcome home. You're safe here," and tears began to flow... realizing again that home never felt safe, never was safe -- it only looked that way. What would it have felt like to be truly safe at home?
So many years in therapy, so much education and life experience, struggle and effort. Yet the path to freedom, self-esteem enough to believe I deserve (no one can tell you, it must be felt) seems elusive, unobtainable. 66 now and still hungry to breathe freely or feel worthy, both surprised and disappointed that I still stumble. A lifetime spent untangling emotional barbed wire. Home was the last place I wanted to be, and all roads, all life challenges lead back.
Still standing, still hopeful, though discouraged in this particular moment, and grieving.
Strength and honor.
I do not have a picture, rather letters embedded deeply. My mother died when I was six and was in and out of treatment for several years prior. Over the summers, we stayed at a small guest house away from the cities heat. One of the staff was named Clementine . She and her mother were from Belgium. After my mother was gone, life was difficult Clemmy wrote to me often, loving letters-just as a mother might- I was very young but these letters meant so much to me that decades later I am tearful with gratitude.
In reading this prompt, I realized that I am now the family elder; the stories I know exist in my power to pass to my children and their cousins. If I don't write them down and send them to the next generation, they die. So I revived my love for letter writing today, and I feel the urgency of telling them a richer, robust narrative of their family history . WhenI I die, the letters will endure, and the memories will remain vibrant. I pray that they will inspire future generations,
I was really close to my great-grandmother growing up. When I left Cuba without my parents, she became my second mom. As time went on and I began to live my life, I moved to the Midwest and my family was still in Miami. When she was really sick, I booked a flight to go see her, knowing that she may not have much time left. Sadly, I missed seeing her alive by a few hours. I think I’ll write to her.