Dear Sue:
I know you hate high school. I see you, when no one else does, eating your feelings. I know you feel misunderstood and left out. I know you hoped that managing the basketball team would make you cooler. It didn't.
I know you had hoped that one boy would notice you and ask you to the prom. He didn't. Or that the teacher would have caught the boy who bullied you in the act. I know you wanted to have a well-attended Sweet 16 party (or at all attended).
I know you feel invisible everywhere. There are not the confidantes where you had hoped there would be. Your body is not cooperating with you and I know how frustrating that feels. I've seen you cry in your room when jeans and t-shirts don't hide the multiple folds of fat.
I know you feel like a geek because you didn't want to break the pasta bridge you made for physics class. You feel wimpy because you go in the hallway when your classmates view graphic slides in history class. The angst you pour into your poetry seems dramatic but I know it feels and is real.
Your family of origin is fractured and broken. Your parents aren't the people you need them to be. Your church family is scattered, your church life is not what you hoped it would be.
Friendships are fleeting. Trying to make friends is like trying to grab broken eggshells out of the skillet, elusive and hard to grab. You are popular because you drive and have a car but friendships don't extend courtesy and warmth beyond the end of the car ride.
I wish I could tell you the moment when the flaws you perceive will turn into assets. It's a little squidgy, honestly. It gets far worse before it starts to improve. You will lose the faith of your only allies, your family. You will alienate what few friends you scrape together. You will end up mostly homeless.
Just as you feel the subfloor underneath you, cool and hard, God will intervene. You will have cried out to him as your cheeks presses against the concrete. He has been standing by, in the shadows, waiting for you to ask for help.
Over time, a long time, time that will seem to creep by in days measure by seconds, you will begin to know yourself better. Your body still won't fully cooperate. Don't fret, the muscles you carved during swim practice will help you grow to love running. You will run multiple marathons. Marinate on that.
The angst that you felt will help you parent a child who struggles to contain his emotions. Remember the juice stain on your wall, where you threw the juice box in a fit of rage? That will help you empathize with a son who almost comes unglued when a friend wants to pop a balloon.
Your writing will help you process your life. You will not be rich and famous, but to be fair most writers aren't. Poets especially aren't. You will still struggle to make sense of your checkbook. Your car will still make you popular but mostly with the under 5 set.
You will still be bullied, though not as often. Those in authority still won't see it and the pain will be dull and headache-inducing.
In exchange for slowly fitting into your skin, you will receive gifts you didn't know to ask for. You will be popular but it won't earn you invites to parties. It will earn you sloppy kisses, bear hugs and all the smiles your heart can hold.
You will finally learn how to cook and you'll be surprised to find out how good things taste. Your body is soft, this time from giving life to three different people, but your cooking will help change that.
You will still get low. You will still shy away from gore, violence and ugliness. Your heart will still be tender, but now you have friends and people in your life who appreciate (not exploit) it.
I guess what I'm trying to say is....hang in there. Your life isn't even a quarter over. Take a deep breath. Don't take yourself too seriously. Don't apologize for who you are--embrace it. That's what people will eventually love the most about you.
You.
Sincerely,
Sue
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