Letters to My Past

Sometimes healing looks like silence.

Other times, it looks like writing everything down just to finally let it go.

This week, I did something I wasn’t sure I’d ever do. I wrote letters—to my past. To the people who hurt me, dismissed me, made me question myself. I didn’t write them to send. I wrote them for me. To breathe. To make space again in my own body.

And something shifted.

I didn’t even realize how much I was carrying until the words started spilling out.

It’s not that I think about every person constantly.

But pain doesn’t have to be front of mind to be present in your body.

Unspoken pain shows up in cycles. In how we let people treat us. In how we doubt ourselves.

In how we shrink our dreams.

I think that’s what happened with music.

There was a time I couldn’t sing—not because I lost my voice, but because I lost my peace.

I felt too broken to share anything. And maybe part of me didn’t want to be seen at all.

But now… the weight is lifting.

It’s not all gone. It’s not perfect.

But I can breathe again.

And I can finally say this:

No one should ever have the power to keep me from doing what I love.

I am talented. I am powerful.

And it’s time I stop hiding that for the sake of other people’s comfort.

I know who I am now.

And I’m going to make sure the world knows too.

This is just the beginning.

And I’m ready to show you what I’m capable of.

Love always.

Xo,

Nina