Dear younger Mia, stop silencing yourself.

You were once a bright child with an even brighter mouth, babbling on about elementary school gossip during Barbie-themed birthday parties. You always had something to utter; yet, look at me now. Stifled, the words of someone that inspired you repeated in your desolate mind.

“Can you be quiet?”

How naive you were to listen. Now, it takes every ounce of my soul to communicate. A small phrase with a sizable impact shaped your fifteen-year-old self into the undesired. Your biggest fear isn’t spiders or the dark anymore: you fear being annoying. The only thing on your mind as a growing, young girl isn’t friends or toys but what others think of you.

And yet again, you were silenced for the second time.

“This is all your fault.”

Blocking out the rest of the world, my only remembrance of this event were these words. Now—despite many things lingering out of your control—it’s always your fault. 

Existing as an introvert that’s too sensitive is your fault. Feeling sad, angry, or hurt is your fault. Not being “good enough” is your fault. Not looking a certain way, but not being unique enough, is your fault. The list of your faults never concludes.

You never asked to be this way—you coveted for the complete opposite—but the words of your loved ones determined your fate when you heeded.

Your insecurities are marked by these phrases; they changed the character you once were.

So scared to be yourself, all you wanted was to look like everyone else, to blend in, yet, stand out. You craved everyone’s approval; yet, you never seemed to be the right person. Again and again, you gazed at your body and tears streamed down your adolescent face.

How much I yearn to go back in time; the hand that once shoved my stomach in to fit beauty standards now holds my happiness in its palm. Like black coffee in need of sweet cream, the fingers wrapped around my life seem to never dissolve. 

Exposed so soon to harsh realities, your childhood was ripped from you. And over the years, you wrapped your arms around your body, the only comfort to a misunderstood conscience. I can’t assure you everything gets better, but you learn to bear it. You find friends that make those happy moments last a bit longer and—for the most part—learn to love your body the way it is. 

So, stop silencing yourself. Stop muffling your ceaseless speeches. Stop wishing to be someone you’re not. 

I’m sorry you are so alone, too quiet to stick up for yourself, and so quick to change. 

From, your future self.