✧ A Love Letter to My Future Self ✧

Dear Future Me,

This isn't just a love letter.

This is a sacred document of clarity, a living record of what I refused to carry forward.

You know what I saw?

I saw the bloodline.

I saw the women who came before me—

their brilliance dimmed, their backs bent, their laughter tucked beneath duty and silence.

I saw my mother, my grandmother, my aunts—

goddesses in disguise, wrapped in survival.

And I realized…

some of what we called strength was actually exhaustion.

Some of what we called love was really sacrifice with no return policy.

Some of what we tolerated was never meant for us.

And I?

I made a different choice.

I didn't just acknowledge the pattern; I confronted it head-on.

I addressed it.

I put it on the altar, gave it a nickname, made peace, and said:

"You end with me."

I stopped laughing at the things that hurt.

I stopped calling emotional starvation "loyalty."

I stopped romanticizing struggle as if my body was built for burnout.

And instead, I made a sacred decision to love myself fearlessly—

not halfway, not on Sundays, not in secret.

But boldly. Daily. Publicly. Privately. And with the kind of consistency that turns ancestors into backup dancers.

I clung to my integrity as if my very soul depended on it—because it does.

And I guarded my wealth—not just financial, but spiritual, emotional, ancestral—like sacred fruit from Eden.

Because I am not just protecting money,

I am protecting my frequency.

My flow.

My divine inheritance.

I still laugh—don't get it twisted.

I cackle when I need to.

I flirt with the mirror.

I dance while boiling tea.

But now my laughter is laced with power, not performance.

Because liberation can be funny.

Healing does have a sense of humor.

And this Black woman's joy?

It's political, poetic, and paid for in full.

So to you—my future self—

I don't know your zip code.

I don't know who's sharing your bed.

But I know one thing:

You didn't settle.

You didn't shrink.

You didn't go back.

You remember that choosing yourself

was never selfish—

it was sacred.

With wealth, wit, and wonder,

Sherley Delia