A Best Friend Can Change The World
June 8th, 2026
Dear Best Friend,
Sunday morning, I woke up to a reel you sent me on Facebook. Sometimes a reel can be so trivial. Curated for the masses, small words overlaying a photo or video stating that you care. This one stood out. This one held my attention for a long moment. This one led me to tears. This one manifested a wave of deep-seated emotions.
“Girl to Girl
I don’t know who hurt you, but you don’t have to pay me back the $6 for the coffee.
You don’t have to apologize for long voice notes. I will play them twice if I have to.
Grieve the same thing a hundred times. I’m still here to listen.
If I invited you, I want you there, and I’m excited you’re coming.
Borrow whatever you need. Take the jacket, or the earrings. The time and space.
You don’t have to lose any weight to be worthy, beautiful, and loved.
I’ve taken a thousand photos of you, and I’ll take a thousand more until you see what I see.
You don’t have to earn being cared for or listened to.
You don’t have to be easy to be loved.
You’re enough.”
Perhaps the things I haven’t shared aren’t important to where I am now. Perhaps explaining exactly why this reel affected me so deeply defeats the purpose of you sending it. But for me, it unlocked a story worth reflecting on.
I’ve mentioned before that not every relationship in my life has been easy. Abuse, control, isolation. The list could go on. Since I was 14 years old, I’ve had four relationships that profoundly shaped me, and not in a good way.
I used to be colorful. I loved people. I loved life. I believed the world was fueled by all that was good.
At a young and impressionable age, I entered a relationship that slowly stripped away every connection I had outside of the person I was with. It started with love. He was three years older than me. I lost my virginity. I felt safe. I felt loved. I felt cared for.
What I didn’t recognize were the small comments that planted seeds of insecurity.
“You’re so beautiful when you straighten your hair. Too bad it looks so ugly before you do.”
“I love when you wear eyeliner like that. I hate showing my friends what you look like without it.”
Little by little, I learned that I wasn’t enough as I was. I believed no one would love me unless I perfected myself first.
Then, one day, having male friends was no longer acceptable. Most of my friend group had been around for nearly ten years at that point. Any protest led to threats and intimidation. Eventually, the threats became declarations.
“No one could ever love you the way I do.”
I was told I was damaged goods. I was told no one else would want me. So I cut ties with five of my closest friends.
Soon after, my female friends were next.
McKenzie, my best friend since elementary school, suddenly became someone I shouldn’t associate with. She hung around people who might give others the wrong impression of me. To be fair, she did make some questionable choices outside of our friendship, but I digress.
I became “unavailable.” Every time we spent time together, I faced endless questions. What were we doing? Who else was there? What did we talk about?
Eventually, it became easier not to see her at all.
Before long, my only friends were his friends.
I was alone.
It took every ounce of strength I had to escape that relationship, but I survived. I landed on my feet only to realize that rebuilding wasn’t as simple as returning to the people I’d left behind. Some relationships could be rekindled, but they were never quite the same.
I wasn’t proud of myself. I didn’t think I had worth. That mindset led me into two more relationships that lacked the physical abuse but carried the same control I had grown accustomed to.
From the ages of 15 to 23, my circle remained small. I lost relationships with family members because even they were considered a threat to the people I allowed to hold my heart. I didn’t know how to connect with people anymore. I had lost every semblance of myself.
Then you came along.
You became my first real friend in ten years.
I didn’t know how to be a friend anymore. I didn’t know how to trust people, how to open up, or even who I was outside of survival mode.
Who am I?
Am I funny?
How do I keep a friend?
What is okay to say?
What is okay to do?
What do I do with my hands?
You came into my life when I didn’t know what I was worthy of. I didn’t know how to love myself, what I liked, what I didn’t like, or what felt safe. My life was fueled by uncertainty, and I was desperately trying to make it out of survival mode.
You changed my life.
I don’t say that lightly, but you did.
I had forgotten what friendship was. I had forgotten how to love properly and how to express myself honestly.
Then you handed me an invitation to your wedding.
It was probably a simple gesture to you, but it changed something in me.
For the first time in a very long time, I felt chosen.
I felt wanted.
I started to believe that maybe I wasn’t the person I’d been told I was. Maybe I wasn’t difficult to love. Maybe I was worthy of friendship. Maybe I was worthy of love.
That being said, I know there are times when I don’t say the right things. Times when I’m quiet. Times when I don’t fully share what is happening in my heart. The truth is that I have been rebuilding myself and rediscovering who I am for the entire duration of our friendship.
There is no guidebook for that.
I share this because I want you to know how incredibly important you are to me. How important your children are to me.
When we met, nothing felt possible. Then you came into my life like a beam of light. A small but powerful reminder that I could be loved. That I wasn’t difficult to love. That I was worthy of care exactly as I am.
“Girl to Girl” reminded me of all the ways you’ve shown up for me over the years. Not because you had to, but because that’s who you are.
Thank you will never come close to expressing what I feel for you simply being yourself, but thank you.
Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your life.
Thank you for supporting me when I didn’t feel worthy of support.
Thank you for helping me become comfortable being myself.
Most of all, thank you for reminding me that I was enough all along.
I love you.
Sincerely,
Your Friend for Life
I Have Had So Much To Say, And No Words
March 23, 2026
Months pass with you thinking you are okay—that you made it through, made it out alive—but grief does not hold a clear line of sight, an open goal to escape it. It has been almost nine months without you. Nine. It is all starting to set in that you are not with me, that I will never hear you call me your pumpkin ever again. That you will not tell me how proud you are of me when my world feels like it is crumbling.
I am luckier than most; I had a dad who never left you guessing how he felt. He fueled us with words of affirmation, though often colored in expletives and long-winded stories—but he was there. He was the one who showed up when others wouldn’t, regardless of his health. My dad was strong and brave, and my grief has been hitting its peak over the past month.
So, with that, a letter to my father:
Hey Dad,
This has been one of the hardest years of my life, and it has changed a lot. I hope that despite my setbacks, you find yourself proud of me—but I know that you do. I miss hearing you tell me that.
I have reflected a lot on your impact on the person I am today, and I want you to hear from me the parts of you that live in me every day. You taught me to love fearlessly and ferociously—no phone call ever ending without an “I love you.” You are why I am an empath and never fear sharing my feelings with others.
I know how much you loved my ex, but please find peace in knowing that I have found someone who never lets me guess their love. Someone who supports me, wants what is best for me, and feels like a real partner. I am happier and finding peace in my everyday life. I think that is why I am feeling grief more deeply—because my head is growing quieter.
I haven’t been the best sister or daughter recently, and I know that you wouldn’t love hearing that. I am struggling internally a lot lately, and our family dynamic is not the same without you. Toward the end, you talked about being a burden—but you were never a burden. You were someone who kept us together. You were our pillar—our messy, unconventional pillar. You were always just there, like a warm blanket or the sun on our faces, lighting us up.
Finding a partner leaves me more devastated in some ways, because I know when the time comes, you won’t be there to walk me down the aisle. If that day comes, you won’t be able to hold and play with a child of my own. You won’t be there in person—but I can only hope you are there in spirit with me.
Someday, I will be strong enough to listen to your voicemails again—to hear your voice on the hardest days. To remember the times you were just there, showing up when no other family was there, when no other friends came. I had my dad—my tried and true.
I miss you deeply. I love you.
Sincerely,
Your pumpkin
Did I Start a Journey Just to Fall Off? Yes. Will I Get Back on the Horse? Absolutely.
September 11, 2025
Grief is a wildly fickle thing. I’ve felt nothing short of empty—just a vessel carrying a soul in repair. I can’t seem to find regularity, and the empty bottles of wine in my trashcan don’t help my cause.
Two years ago, I was on solid ground—stable, going to the gym, getting engaged, and coming home to two perfectly purring kitties. Now, I sit rebuilding a life I chose for myself. Rebuilding is hard, especially when it’s tied to the death of my father.
It wasn’t long ago that the final nail was put in the coffin of my previous relationship. A simple visit to Verizon to split our connected phone plans gave me unexpected clarity. In his own way, he validated my decision—by simply being himself.
Does that sound harsh? Totally. But here’s the truth: I fell in love with a good and loving man. He helped me rebuild my self-worth when it was stripped away at such a young age. He played cheerleader to every adventure I pursued. He was there when times were tough—even after we split, even after my father passed.
But he also carried a constant, relentless self-deprecation that eventually drove me away. And that side of him showed up again, right there in the middle of Verizon.
Choosing More
Today, I feel clarity. Leaving a life that was comfortable but not fulfilling was okay. Wanting more is okay. Wanting calm is okay. Wanting someone who craves adventure and joy is okay.
I want to leave events and social situations smiling, laughing, talking about the beauty of the evening—not dissecting every little thing that went wrong. For the first time in a long time, I’m breathing real air. I may still be floundering to find myself, but I’m breathing.
New Adventures
So what does life hold now?
- I got a new orange kitten. His name is Uni—like the sushi. (Only later did I realize it literally means the reproductive organs of a sea urchin. Mother of the year award? I’ll take it.)
- I have a new house that’s slowly becoming home, complete with a beautiful green couch, a kitchen that inspires me to cook again, and more space than I know what to do with.
- And I’ve started dating again. Dating in your 30s? A wild ride. But hey—party on.
A Bittersweet September
September was supposed to be the month I got married. Now, it’s a harsh reminder of what could have been—and the thousands (THOUSANDS!) lost on deposits. But life doesn’t stop.
So, we keep riding the rollercoaster. Until the next adventure, my friends.
My Bright Black Heart 
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