
Dear Little Me
I know that you’re angry. You’re confused and tired, feeling lost and alone. Wherever you look, you search for safety and stability, though you never seem to seize either of them.
You’re forced to be strong. Stronger than you should be at your tender age. You have taught yourself to be quiet, to not make a fuss, to stay low and invisible. You have taken on the role of the peace-keeper, trying so hard to be good, praying it would be enough for your mum to never drink again. Praying to be her cure. Oh, how well you play that role.

Today, my love, I will tell you that none of this has ever been yours to fulfil. Your mum’s illness isn’t your battle to fight.
It has never been in your control whether she gave in to those strong urges. Neither has it been in your control whether your parents got along or whether everything was yet again in utter shambles.
It’s not your fault.
You’re just a kid.
It’s not your fault.
Let me take the weight off your shoulders and build us a home with it. A home where you won’t cut your feet on broken bottles or walking on eggshells.
A home where there is nothing but love and joy and laughter. And ease. A home where you’re allowed to run free and feel all the emotions.
Where you’re allowed to be yourself unapologetically. Because that’s what you deserve. That’s what you have always deserved.
You are so much more than the pain, the sadness, the shame, and all those unfair responsibilities you carry. You are bright, you are special, you are one of a kind. You are loving. You are loved.
I love you,
Sophie
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