A love letter to self.

In this beautifully vulnerable piece, originally shared through Healing Roots, K.C. Ellison reflects on what it means to open your heart again after surviving deep grief, trauma, and heartbreak. This letter to self becomes a reminder that healing is not about forgetting the pain—it’s about reclaiming the softness that grief tried to steal.

K.C. speaks honestly about rage, exhaustion, and the silent battles that shape us, and then turns toward compassion: giving herself permission to love again, to trust joy, and to lay down the survival armor that once kept her safe.

This post is a gentle invitation for anyone on their own healing journey to pause, breathe, and remember that they, too, deserve tenderness. It’s a message of hope, self-forgiveness, and the quiet courage it takes to rebuild a heart that has been broken but not defeated.

A Love Letter to self.

A Love Letter to self.

Dear Me,

I’m writing this slowly, intentionally, like someone finally brave enough to touch a wound without flinching. I’ve carried so much — grief that changed my bones, heartbreak that rearranged my future, pain that taught me how to breathe underwater. And through it all, I kept going. Even on nights when the world felt unlivable. Even when silence was the only witness to the battles I fought.

So today, I’m giving myself something I’ve never really had the courage to offer: permission.

Permission to love again.

Permission to be soft again.

Permission to stop treating survival like my only personality trait.

I’ve earned tenderness.

I’ve earned peace.

I’ve earned the right to lay down the armor that once saved me but now weighs too much.

I’m no longer apologizing for the ways trauma shaped me. I’m thanking myself for staying alive through it. I’m honoring the versions of me that held the line when I didn’t think I’d make it this far. I’m finally letting my heart know: You are safe with me now.

I promise to love myself in ways I used to beg others to try.

I promise to speak softly to my own nervous system.

I promise to choose people who choose me back.

I promise not to abandon the person who has carried me through every unseen war—me.

And to my future self—the one who will fall in love again, whether with a person, a dream, a sunrise, or a new chapter—I want you to know:

You are allowed to receive what once broke you.

You are allowed to trust joy again.

You are allowed to be held.

Today, I step forward with an open heart not because I am unhurt, but because I am healing.

And healing deserves love.

With tenderness,

Casie