Someday, you need to reach down in yourself and find the person you used to be, the soul that still flickers in your darkness. You need to remember where you came from.

The blood of warrior women flows in your veins. You are made of the stars, and of tea parties, and of faith. You are made of your mama, who brought you here early on a Tuesday in May, whose life blood ran hot and fast, chasing after you, still wet and raw from my womb. You are made of your daddy, who soldiers on despite all adversity. You are made from all your ancestors, and they are all, every one, fighters. They are fighters with honest eyes and sturdy bones.

Inside of you is a heart, beating silently for yourself. You can’t numb its drumming with any substance known to man. You can’t silence it with any young man.

Your only choice is to give in, find the part of you you’ve long since buried, and claw your way to the top, out of this hole you keep doggedly digging.

And when you arise, fresh with direction, with a willing and courageous smile, we will all be waiting for you.

Every last one of us. You are one of us, and we are all of you.