Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #176.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:

It’s funny, those random things we keep around, isn’t it? I recently came across a comment from an old blog post. I’ll just let it do the talking for itself…

You said that being a virgin is your choice. It’s not. No guy has ever shown any interest in you. You’ve never been out on a date. I bet Marine Boy never looked past your wheelchair or your Play Doh face. It’s not taboo to be a virgin. I belive [sic] you should wait for the right guy. But don’t make it sound like your virginity is a choice. You’ve never had the opportunity to lose it.

This not-so-nice comment? It’s been sitting in my drafts folder for a couple years now. And even worse? I’m not exactly sure why. What sort of purpose does it even serve? You know I’m always all about turning the other cheek with those haters and that’s usually such an easy thing to do. So why would I save this, Sweetpea?

We like to think that we’re immune to so much in life, that as humans, we possess some sort of superpower. And sometimes we do. Sometimes we have no trouble just letting those whispers and looks roll off our backs. Those words? Said by those pathetically sad people who know absolutely nothing about you? Those words don’t matter — not now and not ever.

Well, that’s what we tell ourselves. Sometimes because we actually believe it and it’s true. Other times because we’re scared, and we can’t even begin to name all the things we’re scared of. So it becomes easier to put up a front — a suit of armor, if you will — and pretend like we’re The Big Bad, like our self-confidence is this impenetrable force. But if we can hush our fake roar for just one moment, we start to hear that little voice in our heart. It’s sort of like seeing the light in the dark; it’s the kind of truth that you can’t miss even if you wanted to.

When you’re a kid, all the monsters seem real at night. The ones under your bed or the ones hiding in your closet. Those are the ones you expect to jump out and attack you. As you get older, those monsters get replaced by irrational thoughts that keep you up at night, tossing and turning as you try to make sense of them. It’s that little voice that tries to take over when we find ourselves most vulnerable.

Maybe the trick, then, is realizing what those thoughts really are. Monsters. They’re not real. They’re not going to hurt me. And come the morning light, they’ll be gone and I’ll be just fine. I look forward to fighting each other’s monsters together, Sweetpea. Until we meet… xoxo

[Photos via We Heart It]