A Shared Wish

“I wish to be an author to share an important message.
I wish to be accepted for being me.
I wish to get over BPD and depression.
I wish to be able to talk to my friend.”

This wish shook me.
It wasn’t mine—at least, not on paper.
Someone else tucked it gently into the wish jar at an event.
But it is my wish. Completely.

Four small sentences.
That’s all it took to humble me.
To stop me mid-step and question everything.
It made me wonder if you were always supposed to be there—
and if I was meant to find it.

I want to keep wishes safe.
Or maybe… for this one, I just want to honor it.

Thank you for writing it down.
Thank you for joining me that day.
And if you ever need someone to talk to—that’s why I created this space.
For you.
For Wildflowers feeling the same ache, the same void.

May I offer something gentle in return?

Some friends likes silence.
Silence shakes me.
I’ve learned to communicate: to say what hurts, what heals, and when I need help.
It’s the one skill I’m most proud of.
Because communication keeps the spiral from swallowing me whole.

When the positivity quiets…
when the feelings pile up…
when the emptiness creeps in and steals the color from the day—
those are the moments I want to give up.
Not out of sadness. Out of nothing.
I know that place. I live there sometimes.

But here’s some hope:

This year, I made good decisions.
Even as my marriage ends—peacefully, painfully; I kept showing up.
Even when the person I cared for wasn’t beside me anymore,
I tried present for the people I promised to hold space for.
For Wildflowers. For myself.

At least how I could while still figuring out what’s next for me.

I didn’t spiral.
I built a rhythm that worked for me.
I remembered I had a dog whose life depends on mine.
Plants that can’t grow without me.
A voice that’s learning to speak for herself, not just defend herself.

They once told me trauma made me sick.
So I turned inward.
I focused on yoga, not punishment.
On healing movement, not hurting.
I’ve lost weight—but more than that, I lost the belief that my trauma defined me.

Now?
Now I’m ready to advocate.
For myself and others.
Now I’m ready to return and repair.
Not because I’m done healing. But because I can.

BPD. Anxiety. Depression. ADHD. Trauma.
They don’t hold me back anymore.
Not fully. Not forever.

For the first time, I’m excited to be myself in the end.

When we care for others, we don’t abandon our own path for theirs.
We walk side by side.

So if this wish was yours, if you’re still out there, I see you.
Please keep going.
Reach out when the silence gets loud.
You are not alone.

🌿 With love,
— Aunt C’Anna