I’ve been sitting here thinking about everything you’ve already carried on your small shoulders, and I want you to know that I see you. You haven’t heard this concept yet, but let’s visualize your entire day’s energy counted out in silverware: ten spoons in hand each morning. I’ve figured out that I use up half of my spoons throughout the day interacting with other people and trying to come across as a human being so they don’t ask me too many questions and just leave me alone. You’ll worry that you’re lazy or broken, that everyone else got a secret instruction manual for life you missed. But you aren’t lazy, and you aren’t broken. You’re simply juggling more invisible burdens than anyone ever told you about.

Some days you wonder how you’re supposed to get anything done when so many spoons disappear just by existing, while on others the hours seem to fly by. Yet no matter what the day hands you, you always find a way to work smarter, stretching each remaining spoon farther than you should be able to. You discover shortcuts, hacks, rhythms that let you accomplish more on five spoons than most manage on ten, even when those around you don’t notice the cost of every move.

Failure will never be an option in anything you do. People will see you as so “smart” that showing emotion will feel unnecessary, even weak. You will never get the space to pause and process sadness or anger like other kids do; instead, you will swallow every storm raw and unchecked, long before you even know the words PTSD or borderline personality disorder. You will learn to smile through the ache so no one asks too many questions.

Your emotions will burn with volcanic intensity, clawing at your insides until you want to rip off your skin just to escape the fire. Sometimes the only thought in your head will be that ending it all might finally bring relief. Well-meaning people around you will tell you this is just how life is, that you’ll be smart enough to calm yourself, that everyone has bad days. It won’t be their fault they don’t see the storm inside you, but it won’t make it any easier when they tell you to “just breathe.”

People won’t understand your anger. They’ll think you’re putting on a show or lying about what you feel. They don’t know that for someone with borderline, a small inconvenience, like a tardy coworker or a broken pencil can feel like betrayal and make you want to scream until your lungs burn. It’s taken me many decades of therapy and the right medications to learn how to ride these storms instead of letting them swallow me whole. Therapy gave me the language for my feelings, and medicine eased the intensity. You’ll come to see that these tools aren’t crutches; they’re lifelines.

When that storm hits, and your heart races and your mind spins, you’ll feel every cut of pain in full color, no filter. You’ll learn early how to mask the hurt, how to smile through the ache so no one asks too many questions. And though the world won’t see the battle you fight behind your eyes, you will emerge more resilient than anyone ever gives you credit for.

Sometimes there will be days when twenty tasks come at you all at once, and you try to complete them with just three spoons. You will collapse into bed convinced you had failed at the simplest things, but I want you to understand that the world you’re up against doesn’t always realize it’s piling weight onto you. They’ll think they’re helping by cheering you on, but most of the time they’re just adding more noise. Sometimes people unknowingly dismiss how much energy it takes to just be yourself.

There was a time I believed wanting solitude was a flaw. I thought that if you needed quiet, you were hiding something. In reality, solitude is a refuge, the one place where I can refill my spoons without judgment. It’s where you’ll learn to listen to your own heartbeat and remember that rest is as valuable as action. You deserve that sanctuary. You deserve to protect it fiercely.

I want you to carry this with you: asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness. Naming what you feel isn’t admitting defeat. Rest is not wasted time. Every spoon you save, every moment you take to simply breathe, is a quiet revolution. You are not losing ground; you are building strength in every pause. I promise you’ll end up stronger than you ever imagined, and your story, written in honest letters to yourself, will echo farther than the doubts ever could.

Signed,

42 Year Old Me