I’ve been given an assignment; to write two letters. One to my younger self, and one to the person who hurt me the most. Of course, the second letter isn’t meant to be sent; it’s meant to heal. But as I sat with both assignments, pen in hand and my heart open, something unexpected happened. I realized that the person who hurt me the most was me. That sounds strange, maybe even harsh, but it’s the truth. Yes, I’ve endured deep wounds caused by others. I’ve been betrayed, abandoned, and broken in ways words can hardly describe. But when I look closely, I see beyond the trauma and the pain others caused. I see all the moments I ignored my own intuition. I recall all the times God warned me and I still pressed onward. I see the times I didn’t love myself enough to walk away, or stay still, or say no. There were so many moments where I could have saved myself from unnecessary pain, but I didn’t have the tools. I didn’t have the awareness. I didn’t have the love for myself that I have now. If I’m being completely accountable, I can admit there were so many times in my life. I could’ve avoided heartache and disappointment. I needed to listen to that still, small voice inside me. God showed me, time and time again, what would happen if I continued down certain paths. And still, I went. I talk about this in my upcoming book, Unveiled: The Secrets That Saved Me, which will be released in March. My last marriage, for example; it should have never happened. It was a bandage over a wound that needed surgery. A rebound that went way too far. I was trying to fix a broken part of myself through someone else. I love my children dearly. Yet, I can admit now that the relationship itself was a decision I made from a place of emptiness. It was not a decision made from clarity. God showed me exactly what would happen if I stayed, but I stayed anyway. And even before that, in my first marriage, I knew better then, too. As a teenager, I knew. I was doing things that didn’t align with who God wanted me to be.

So yes, the person who hurt me the most is me. And now, I’m in this space of learning to forgive myself. I’m learning to let go of the guilt tied to every decision I made while I was hurting. I’m letting go of every pattern I repeated out of fear or loneliness. I’m releasing every time I betrayed myself in the name of love. I’m learning to show compassion to the version of me who didn’t know any better. That version of me was just trying to survive. Writing the letter to my younger self was emotional. I chose to write to me from fifteen years ago. As I wrote, I found myself whispering things I wish someone had told me back then. Things like, You are more than enough. Because for so long, I didn’t believe that. Every time I entered a relationship, I overcompensated. I changed myself for the other person. I became who I thought they wanted me to be. In the process, I lost pieces of myself. And when those relationships crumbled, I was angry; angry at them, but really angry at me. Because I had abandoned myself trying to be loved. I had confused being chosen with being valued.

When I was younger, no matter how many people told me I was pretty, I didn’t believe it. No matter how many said I was smart or capable, I couldn’t see it. The trauma from my childhood had whispered louder than the truth ever could. I didn’t truly start believing in myself until I was around twenty-four or twenty-five. After I came back from deployment, I realized just how strong I really was. That experience showed me I could do anything I set my mind to. I was stronger than the lies my mind told me. But even with that strength, I still carried the habit of self-sabotage into adulthood. 

Now, I find myself in a new space. A space where I’ve allowed so much in the past. I sometimes tiptoe through life, afraid to make the wrong move. I’ve met someone recently; a kind, respectful, God-fearing man. Someone who feels genuine, who mirrors the growth I’ve worked so hard for. We can talk about God together, about where we’ve been, about how we’ve both made mistakes and learned from them. He respects my boundaries, makes me laugh, and makes me feel safe. And yet, even in that safety, I’m terrified. Terrified to trust, terrified to hope, terrified to even think about love. Because when you’ve spent years loving the wrong people, love itself starts to feel dangerous. But I’m learning that fear doesn’t mean stop. Sometimes, fear just means slow down. It means tread carefully, but keep walking. So I’m learning to take things step by step. I’m learning to trust myself again… to trust my discernment, my intuition, and most importantly, God’s timing.

What’s interesting is that these two letters; the one to my younger self and the one to the person who hurt me the most, are reflections of the same thing. They’re both about me. They’re both about accountability, forgiveness, and grace. They both remind me that I was never the villain in my story. I was just a woman doing her best with the understanding she had at the time. If there’s one truth I’ve learned through this process, it’s that you are never too broken to rebuild. You are never too far gone to heal. And you can start over as many times as it takes. There’s no expiration date on redemption, no limit to how many times you can begin again. Forgive yourself for the choices you made in survival mode. Forgive yourself for staying too long, for trying too hard, for trusting too soon. Every version of you was just trying to find love, peace, and belonging. And as you grow, remember… some things are meant to stay sacred until they’re ready to be revealed. Some healing happens in the dark, quietly, privately, where only you and God can see it. But when the time comes to share your story, it will shine light for someone else who needs to know they’re not alone.

So here’s to starting over, to loving yourself fully, and to forgiving yourself endlessly. Here’s to living your life freely, boldly, and unapologetically.

Stay tuned. Unveiled: The Secrets That Saved Me is coming soon; and I promise, it’s going to free somebody.

-Shell