letter to the girl who didn't know yet.

dear the version of me that didn't know yet — the one who was still in the middle of it, still trying to make it work, still convincing herself that patience was the same as wisdom and waiting was the same as hope.

i want to tell you that it gets quieter. not in a sad way — in the way that a storm eventually does what storms do and moves on and leaves the air different. cleaner.

you are going to be okay in a way that is deeper and more durable than the okay you were performing. you are going to figure out, slowly and then all at once, which things were yours to carry and which things were handed to you by people who didn't know how to hold them themselves. you are going to find out what it feels like to be in a room and not be managing anyone's reaction to you. it feels like breathing. keep going. i know it doesn't look like it from where you are, but you're already doing the work.