Member-only story
Hello, 13-year-old me.
(This post is inspired by a prompt from Bianca Bass.)
Hello you.
No, don’t be embarrassed. I understand why you want to hold so tightly to something soft and furry. I feel the same way sometimes. You don’t have to put down the plush bunny. Hold him tighter if it helps you. I know how many of your tears he’s absorbed, and I love him for that.
You precious girl. Just let me hold you for a while. You and the bunny. It’s not babyish to sit here in my lap and let me stroke your hair while you hold the bunny against your chin. It’s hard to be the girl who loves soft things, tender things, isn’t it?
You feel like there’s no place for you in this world, don’t you? You feel like it’s wrong to want to cry so much — when they bully you, when you remember how your cat got killed, when you see a bird fly into the big glass window in the kitchen. It’s not wrong. This will become your superpower.
You, precious one, are made of tenderness. And the secret is — there is no more powerful force in the universe. You, if you allow it, can make the space for anyone to feel safe in their vulnerability. This will not be easy. You can do it.
Now though, just hold the bunny and let me hold you. You are beautiful and tender, unique and uniquely connected. Everything that makes you “weird” will become your greatest joy, and it will draw people to you. There’s nothing wrong with you.
You’ll know that eventually. And when you do, I’ll be here.