Open When letters

Dear you,

It's late, and your mind has found the list again. The bill, the email you didn't answer, the thing the kids said at dinner.

You don't have to solve any of it tonight. Nothing on that list gets better between now and morning, and nothing gets worse because you rested.

If it helps, write the list on the back of this letter. Once it's on paper, it doesn't have to live in your head until sunrise.

Then you might put a hand on your chest and take three slow breaths, letting each one out a little longer than it came in. It sounds too simple. It's also one of the quickest ways to tell your body the day is over.

You made it through today. That was the whole job.

Cynthia

Dear you,

Tomorrow is a big day, and you're allowed to be scared of it. Being scared doesn't mean you aren't ready. It means it matters.

Something that might help tonight: lay out what you'll wear, and put your papers in one folder in the order you were given them. On a single page, write the two or three things you most want the judge to understand, in plain words.

You don't have to be eloquent. You only have to be clear, and be you. Judges hear nervous people every single day.

Eat something in the morning, even something small. Leave early enough to find the room without running.

Whatever happens tomorrow, it won't be the last word on your life or on your children. It's one day in a long story, and you're the one writing most of it.

Cynthia

Dear you,

If you're reading this, the numbers didn't work this month. I'm sorry. That's heavy to hold, and it isn't a flaw in you. When the income won't cover the life, that's arithmetic, not failure.

Tonight might be about one call rather than the whole problem. Dialing 2-1-1 connects you with local help for rent, food and utilities, and the people who answer talk with women in your exact place all day long.

If a bill is coming due, you might call before the date rather than after. Asking for a payment arrangement is ordinary. They hear it constantly, and many will say yes.

And if there are children to feed tomorrow, a food bank won't ask you to prove you've tried hard enough.

You are the same capable woman you were when there was money. This is a season, and seasons move.

Cynthia

Dear you,

Something happened today, didn't it. Maybe you said no. Maybe you made the call you'd been dreading, or walked out a door, or asked for help out loud.

Stop for a minute and let it count. Brave things done by tired women rarely have a witness, so let this letter be yours.

Write what you did on the back of this page, with today's date. One day you'll read it again and remember you were already becoming who you're going to be.

I'm proud of you. I don't need to know the details to mean it.

Cynthia

Dear you,

Somewhere between the school forms and the dishes and being needed by everyone, it's easy to lose track of her. The woman who liked things. Who had opinions about music. Who laughed at something and couldn't stop.

She's still in there. She didn't leave. She's been waiting for a quiet minute.

Here's a small way back. Think of one thing you loved before all of this, even something tiny: a song, a food, a place, a colour. Find a way to have a little of it this week, just for you, with no one else in mind.

You are more than what you do for other people. You always were.

Cynthia