Throughout my 20 years of existence I have learned a lot of hard life lessons. Rarely, I find myself wise enough to coach myself through battles before they occur. When that happens, though, it flows thick through my veins like a code — impossible to ignore. I have taught myself that my dreams and expectations in this life will never unfold entirely like I wish. Life will sometimes throw things and hit me hard enough to break skin. Circumstances and weaknesses will place themselves like scars (both voluntarily and involuntarily) on the tops of my thighs. Hard times come and when they do, they will fill the spaces between my ribcage like cement that’s trying to drown any positive spirit attempting to breathe through the cracks. I have taught myself that there will be mornings that my heart will split open, afternoons of picking myself up off the floor, and nights so long that I beg for God to return. Through the long days and the lonely nights, I have consistently reminded myself that though I collect galaxies of tears in my hands, I am not the product of star-crossed lovers. Instead, I am a child of the Star-Breather Himself. It’s really no wonder that my heart is so big. I know there will be nights that I feel like I can’t take one more step, but I also know that I must throw myself forward — not checking below me for a safe place to land, but knowing that with every ounce of stardust that fell into my fists, I have more than enough strength to be victorious over dead ends – I can turn a terrifying free fall into an enthralling parachute ride to a better tomorrow.
In my future, I know that when my daughter comes to me with battle scars that no soldier should have, I will unashamedly display mine like a medal of valor; I will kiss her wrists and say, “Little one, this is not a map to a dead end, this is a monument of what has survived.”