A letter to me...

I feel like I need to write to you now, while I’m still in the middle of this river, tired, soaked, confused.

I haven’t reached the other bank yet.

I don’t even know if I will.

But I’m here.

Swimming.

Trying.

And that alone is already more than I ever thought I’d be capable of.

I dared.

Against everything that told me to stay still, not to move, not to take risks.

I dared to cross.

Not because I know what’s on the other side... because I don’t.

What drives me is a stubborn, almost naïve hope that what awaits me there will be truer.

More me.

A version of my life that doesn’t ask me to hide or shrink.

But this path isn’t beautiful like in the books.

It’s been hard.

The currents pull.

The fears scream.

And my insecurities... they’re all here.

They came with me.

I feel them louder than ever. It hurts.

It hurts because I’m afraid of failing.

Afraid of not living up to the woman I dream of being.

Afraid of losing myself in the middle of all this.

Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in doubts.

And even so… even so, there are moments.

Small moments, almost imperceptible, when I feel magic.

When something inside me lights up and whispers, “keep going.”

As if the universe touched my shoulder and softly told me I’m on the right path.

Even without seeing the destination.

Even without knowing anything.

I have to learn not to swim against the current.

Not to resist so much.

I have to let go of the rotten logs I find and stubbornly cling to, just because they give me the illusion of support.

But they break.

And my fingers end up bruised.

Here, in this river, it’s just me.

With my tired body, my heart full of fear and full of desire.

Just me.

I don’t know if I’ll make it.

I don’t know if the other bank will be the beautiful place I imagine.

But I do know I couldn’t stay on this side any longer.

I know something in me was dying there, and that crossing was the only way to live.

So… remember this: you were brave.

You said yes to change even without guarantees.

That is love.

That is faith.

That is being a phoenix... burning in order to be reborn.

And even if this rebirth is slow, crooked, imperfect… it is yours.

With all the tenderness in the world,

Me.