I did a thing tonight. I went to this {amazing} meet up where I talked with another writer and we just sat in silence and wrote. Most days, writing is a solitary task, but tonight I got to sit at table with someone as we each did our own thing.Yes, it was a dream come true.

We started off the night by doing a little creative exercise where we wrote a Love Letter to ourselves. I knew before I started that my self-depreciation wasn’t going to let me get more than one or two lines in before hijacking the bus, but I thought it’d be fun to see where things go. And I was pleased to see that at the end of twenty minutes, I’d actually liked what I’d put down on paper. Was it a love letter? Pssshhh… course not. But it was close (kind of).

Truly thankful for the opportunity to be an introvert with other people and develop our craft together. Til next time, Athena.

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You are bold.

I’ve always loved that about you,

except when I hate it.

So, I guess it just depends on the day.

I remember when you were a little girl,

you would come home crying

because you had opened that mouth of yours just a little too much.

Opened your heart just a little too much.

Let them see you just a little too much.

And people didn’t always like what was hidden beneath those fire red curls.

So, your tears would fall hard on journal pages

where you could say all you had in you and no one would ask you to stop.

How many time did you beg God to make you like all the other girls?

Quiet and graceful- a southern belle in modern day.

But you were from Iowa, so there was never a chance of that.

Fifteen years later, I hate to tell you those prayers weren’t answered.

You’re still that girl who says more than she’s supposed to,

always clamping her hand over her mouth half way through a sentence.

Fifteen years later, I hate to tell you that you’re learning to love it.

You’re learning to look people in the eye, and tell them what you’re thinking

That you’re learning the when’s and the how’s so that people actually listen.

That you’re learning to make them listen.

And yes, you’re learning to say I’m sorry,

because sometimes you do say the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person.

But sometimes you also say the right thing.

Sometimes you say thing that the world needs to hear.

Sometimes you say the thing that one little girl needs to hear.

And maybe when she’s ten years old, she won’t come home crying

begging God to make her someone else.

Because when she looked at you-

hands raised in the air realizing just how wonderfully crafted she was-

and said so matter-of fact-ly,

“Ms. Bekah. I’m pretty. And smart. And funny. And Awesome.”

You pulled her close and whispered in her ear what you never said to yourself

“Yea, baby girl, and don’t you forget it.”