Letter From Limbo

August 2025 · St. Pete, FL

Limbo used to feel like pacing an empty house.

Questions on every wall. Unfinished sentences.

Now it’s intentional.

A pause while the pieces click—an intentional limbo, part healing, part building what comes next.

The Old Dreams I Let Go

My pack is lighter. I’m stronger.

I’m doing what I said I would in the meantime—

not drinking, learning, making time for small joy, taking care of my body, keeping the habits I’ll need when life speeds up.

I was scared to step out of the last chapter.

Something in me cracked.

Maybe it needed to.

I let the old dreams go so I could reach for new ones.

What Limbo Taught Me

Being home is its own test.

Each day asks who will show up—

the girl who knows this place too well

or the woman I’m becoming.

I put down shame, guilt and the one thing I’ve sworn never to live by — regret.

I kept curiosity.

I’ll keep questioning the stories we live by.

Because we get to shape them.

I went quiet for a while. Maybe I had to.

Being for everyone meant I wasn’t for myself.

Loving myself when no one was watching planted new seeds.

Tending the Fire

I’ve crossed oceans alone.

Turns out it’s also sweet to imagine seeing the world with someone and to bring others into the magic.

I was tempted by old dreams.

But I chose the harder road and I’m proud of that.

Health scares asked me to be patient and strong at once.

A soft no is a full-body no now. I listen.

A belief that doesn’t fit anymore: that I was weak.

Look at the leaps. Look at the survival.

I relit my fire from an ember.

Some days it’s small. Some days it roars.

Either way, I feed it the right things:

Quiet mornings and slow evenings.

Connection that expands.

Room to make things for the joy of making.

Self-compassion.

If my past self sat across from me, I wouldn’t warn her.

She’d see the clarity in my eyes.

Hear the surety in my voice.

She’d know the road isn’t easy, but it’s necessary.

I’d tell her: you’re exactly where you need to be.

Self-doubt still knocks.

I spent years taking off masks;

I know who I am.

Sometimes the demons bang on the door.

And now I let them in, pour tea, hear them out, then show them the way out and lock up behind them.

Because I hold the keys.

Building the Next Story

I’m building the next story—one I get to share with others who believe in the magic.

I’ll keep dreaming bigger. I’m not afraid to jump.

When it’s time, I’ll already be in motion.

Limbo wasn’t empty.

It was training.

It was tending the fire.

It was me, getting ready for the next story.