Dear Yaszy,
I’d say in case you forget, but I know this world profits from you not owning your power. I know it benefits from you not knowing your worth. And I know it will never acknowledge your internal and external beauty.
So, instead, I’ll begin this love letter by saying you are more than enough and I love you. I love the depths of your emotions. They are a mix between sugar and spice and everything nice to a quiet burning in your soul. I love the twinkle in your squinty eyes when you’re excited (or talking about finances). I love the melody, and yes, even the volume of your voice when you’re bubbling with exuberance and glee. I love your child-like giddiness and though you weren’t raised by your mom, is a trait you share with her.
I love the Muhammad Ali quality in you that continues to defy and K.O. expectations. Even though you were too small to know the limitations placed upon you, I love that your life serves as a big “I’ll show you.” I love how you define your struggles and understanding of the lesson rather than the reason. I love your commitment to show other women how to rewrite their stories by sharing your own. I love your quick wit and sass that has proven to cut down giants where they stand.
I love your fearlessness to try anything once for no other reason but to say you did. I love your courage that allows your ambition and drive to be ever-evolving. I love the passion that made you keep going even when it felt like you would never achieve your dreams. I love your go-getter attitude that continues to ask what if regardless of the situation. And I love that you didn’t allow your fear of starting over to stop you.
I love your optimism and your ability to to grow through what you go through. Life has taught you that it’s always darkest before dawn. And you, my love, shimmer in the darkest night. You are light. Even when it’s hard to see, know that you are as bright as any star in the sky.
I love your big forehead. I love your slanted eyes that are almost invisible when you smile. I love that you share those same eyes and cheekbones with your oldest and younger sister. I love your gum-filled smile—even the tooth you chipped when you were seven-years-old. I love your legs. They are a family trait and a reminder that you are William James’ granddaughter. Thick like tree trunks with strong calves, as a woman, you can’t help but admire how they look in heels.
I love the way you love. I love the way that you show care for others. I love how nurturing and protective you are of your loved ones. I even love your sometimes harsh honesty to those who know you best.
Yaszy, I’d say in case you forget, but I know the world has a way of making women feel small. I also know that the world suffers when Black women, specifically, don’t know that they’re enough.
So, instead, I’ll end this love letter by saying you are more than enough. If you haven’t heard it lately, I love you. I love every woman you’ve been. I love the woman you are. And I love the woman you are destined to become.
With All My Love,
Yaszy
