Dear ,

I pray you grow wise

—so wise that no whispered promise can cloud your vision,

so strong that no borrowed dream can make you forget your own.

May you see clearly:

not the shimmering illusion of who they could be,

but the bare truth of who they are.

And may you have the courage to believe what their hands, their silence, their leaving told you the first time.

, I pray you unlearn the ache of waiting, release the weight of fixing, and lay down the tired hope that they will bloom into someone they were never meant to be.

No more stretching yourself thin for those who would never reach for you.

No more pouring love into hands that let it slip through like sand.

, You are not a well for the unthirsty.

May you walk away, head high, crowned in the wisdom of your own worth.

May you know—deep in your bones—that some people are only seasons, not sacred homes.

I pray you find peace in letting go, soft as silk, strong as gold.

May you only open your heart to those who can hold it gently, who can meet you where you stand without needing to be led.

And most of all , I pray you never again betray yourself by clinging to hands that have already released you.

...Instead, may you turn toward the warmth of your own light, radiant, unshaken, whole.

You were never meant to beg for love.

You are love.

You are the prize.

You are the throne.

, You are home.

With love,

Dr. Sandra Rose Hamilton

Cultivating Quiet Power & Confidence