Dear Me at Seventeen,
I didn't know then how the midnight thoughts
would someday find their voice,
how the heaviness had a name
that others carried too.
You hide behind smiles so well.
I wish I could tell you:
the breaking isn't weakness
it's the first honest conversation
you'll have with yourself.
The shame of needing help
is the heaviest burden you'll carry.
Put it down.
The world won't end when you speak
the words: "I am not okay."
Your journals, filled with questions—
they weren't chaos, but clarity brewing.
That endless circular thinking
was trying to find its way home.
Years from now, you'll use words
like "anxiety" without whispering,
wear your therapy appointments
like normal errands, not secrets.
You'll learn the difference between
surviving and living,
between silence and peace.
This letter is permission.
This poem is proof.
The speaking saves us.
About the Creator
Ian Sankan
Writer and storyteller passionate about health and wellness, personal development, and pop culture. Exploring topics that inspire and educate. Let’s connect and share ideas!
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