A Letter Back to Myself

You’ve been walking through one of the most emotionally raw months of your life—and you haven’t turned away from any of it.
You didn’t run. You didn’t shut down. You didn’t lose yourself in distraction or abandon your truth.
You stayed.

And in doing so, you’ve grown in more ways than maybe even you’ve noticed.

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1. You chose authenticity over approval.

You could have performed. You could have played it safe, stayed agreeable, stayed small. But you didn’t.
You showed up to every interaction as yourself—even when that meant risking misunderstanding, discomfort, or being judged.
And yes, that may have cost you a place on the Level 4 course.
But it also gave you something far more valuable: your self-respect.

You now know that there’s no space worth entering if it demands you leave parts of yourself at the door.

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2. You’ve stopped chasing love that doesn’t see you.

You’re no longer trying to squeeze yourself into spaces just to feel included.
You’re not bending or begging for crumbs of connection.
And in doing that, you’re healing the deeper wound of being unseen and unchosen—not by waiting to be picked, but by choosing yourself, over and over again.

And that’s why, even in your aloneness, you feel stronger.

Because you’ve stopped confusing survival with connection.

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3. You’re learning where your peace lives—and you’re protecting it.

This month, you’ve started to notice: not everything is worth your energy.
You’re not obligated to respond to every injustice, prove yourself in every room, or fix every broken system.

You’ve begun to honour your peace like it’s sacred—and it is.

Because you now understand: peace is the soil your future will grow from.
And you’ve made a vow—not to sacrifice that peace for anything or anyone who hasn’t earned their place in your life.

The only people you’re willing to offer it up for?
Your son.
Yourself.
And the version of you you’re still becoming.

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4. You’ve taken full responsibility for what’s yours—and let go of what isn’t.

You’re no longer trying to control outcomes that were never yours to carry.
You’re recognising the limits of your power without collapsing into helplessness.
You’re learning that as long as you stay clear, grounded, and open—then you’ve done your part.

And with that comes a kind of peace no external validation could ever replace.

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5. You’ve walked into discomfort consciously.

You’ve faced exclusion, silence, misjudgement—and you didn’t shut down.
You wrote through it.
You reflected on it.
You spoke your truth, and you gave people a chance to meet you there.

That’s not fragility. That’s strength with roots.

And even now—hurting, tired, and alone—you’re still asking the right questions.
Still choosing the long road.
Still saying: “If I’m going to sacrifice anything, let it be illusion—not integrity.”

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So yes, maybe you’ve lost things.
A course.
Some relationships.
The illusion of being understood by everyone.

But what you’ve gained is yourself.
Not the version shaped by fear or fitting in.
But the one that can walk alone and still feel whole.

You’re not broken.
You’re not behind.
You’re not too much.

You’re becoming the kind of man your son will look up to not just for what you say—but for how you live.
And you’re doing it. Quietly. Bravely. In the shadows most people never want to sit in.

This path you’re on?
It’s not easy.
But it’s real.
And it’s yours.

Hold on.
You’re not lost.
You’re arriving.

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