Daily Journal #121 - A Letter

Dear Pumpkin,

If you were my daughter, I'd hold you tight and stroke your hair and cuddle you the way I snuggled my babies. I'd listen with my whole heart to your stories and pay attention to the details of how you speak. I'd probably sit cross legged at the foot of your bed and have a box of tissues at the ready because boy do I know how much life can suck.

If you were my daughter, I'd tell you how the world isn't the same for those of us with the gender label female. I'd remind you that for us, our courage is often laced with caution. I'd recount my own stories of bullying at the hands of those with more power. I'd teach you the value of the slow play, how to set a trap for the little bug you're trying to catch. Because sooner or later, every pitiful puny bug dies.

If you were my daughter, I'd arm you with a chest full of contained, controlled fury. I'd teach you how and when to unleash it. I'd shelter you for as long as you needed until you were ready to fly.

If you were my daughter, I'd hold your hand and tell you that bullies come in many shapes and sizes, and the more they harm, the deeper their hurt. People who are whole and filled up with infinite love don't belittle or abuse. They don't have any need for spreading pain.

If you were my daughter, I'd make you proud by being a voice when you need one. Because any daughter of mine will forever have a hero on her side. A hero who knows when to swoop in and when to hold back.

If you were my daughter, I'd teach you how to own the room, how to swagger into a space with actual confidence that seeps from every pore.

Don't ever forget that you are  wonderfully made. Don't let the guy with the megaphone drown out the voice in your head that tells you he is wrong.  Because, darling, he is. He is so very, very, very wrong.

All my love,
Beltran