#210 Remembering Her: A Souling Love Letter
To the version of me who kept going…
You did it. Even when the ache was louder than the hope, you placed one foot in front of the other. You kept breathing. Kept waking up. Kept whispering “maybe” into the dark. You didn’t need a grand plan or perfect faith, you just moved. That quiet courage… it changed everything. I see you. And I love the way you choose life when quitting would’ve been easier.
To the version of me who stayed…
Through every season, you’ve remained. You didn’t walk away when it got uncomfortable. You didn’t abandon yourself. You danced in the joy, yes and you also stayed when the grief knocked on the door. I know you don’t always answer every call for help, even from your own soul, yet you always circle back. You come home. You show up. You’re loyal to your own becoming. And that matters more than you know.
To the version of me who forgot her beauty…
I know you’ve believed some heavy lies. I know the mirror hasn’t always been kind, and the inner voices haven’t either. Let me be the truth-teller today: you are worthy, still. Whole, even in your mess. Glorious, even in your sweatpants and brokenhearted mornings. You don’t have to fix or shrink or earn your way to radiance. You are radiant. Just by being here. Just by being you.
To the version of me who carried it all…
You’ve held so much. Sometimes too much. And you kept standing, even when your knees trembled under the weight. Keep practicing to speak your truth. To not hide, disappear. or show up outside of who you are. Keep rising. And while your strength is fierce, you don’t have to hold it alone. Lay it down when you need to. Let softness hold you for a while. I will. I am. You don’t have to be strong at the expense of your soul.
To the mom in me who thought she was failing…
I see the guilt you carried while trying to be everything. The way you feared you weren’t fully present. Oh love, you were learning to mother yourself while raising a little soul, too. That’s sacred. That’s brave. You didn’t fail. You were healing generations. And Ryder felt your love, even when you couldn’t always feel your own.
To the wife who looked for someone else to fill her soul…
You expected him to fix what felt hollow. To be the light in the places you hadn’t yet dared to enter. But now you know: only God and your own soul can fill those spaces. And that’s not failure, it’s awakening. It’s returning to your sacred center so you can love freely, not from lack.
To the little girl who thought she had to be perfect to be loved…
Oh sweet one, you were never invisible, you were just too bright for some eyes to see. Perfection was never your passport to love. You were always worthy. Always enough. Even when no one clapped. Even when no one noticed. You were and are a masterpiece in motion. Messy, radiant, whole.
To the version of me who speaks life…
Your words matter. Even when they shake. Even when they’re whispered. They’ve carried parts of you (and others) across deep waters. You’ve offered light when yours was flickering. You’ve made joy feel possible again. Your encouragement isn’t just a gift, it’s a ministry to your own heart too. Thank you for not giving up on hope. Thank you for reminding me what’s beautiful, again and again.
With devotion,
Your Whole Self
– A Souling Letter from Me to Me
✍🏼 Your Turn, Beautiful One...
This letter isn’t just mine, it’s ours.
Within you live many versions: the one who rose, the one who hid, the one who hoped, the one who hurt.
They all deserve to be seen. To be heard. To be loved.
I invite you to write your own Souling Letter.
Speak to the parts of you that need remembering.
Honor the ones who carried it all.
Whisper truth to the places still healing.
Let this be a gentle step in Souling yourself home…
word by word, truth by truth, breath by breath.
If it feels aligned, I’d love for you to share a line from your letter in the comments or simply say, “I’m writing mine.”
We rise together.
We remember together.
We return home together.
With you on the journey,
Mindy
