Her words echoed through the secret places of my soul. There was no way she knew her sentiments were the antithesis to the barrage of doubt and deeply rooted insecurity within me. The power of words is widely understood, but I am not sure we always let words heal us.

I know without asking that you have been wounded by words, and you have dished out words that ushered wounding to another, but can you identify a moment when words unleashed a healing you did not even know you needed? Can you recall those even now?

Hi, my name is Alyssa, and I have spent much of my life in a fight-or-flight posture. Are you familiar with such an existence? It looks like rehearsing your failures and keeping your eyes wide open for the next attack, relying heavily on your own understanding, and holding others at a distance because the pain of rejection is greater than the prospect of a promising connection.

I have nurtured fear for more years than I have been free. My master’s degree is in doubt, with an emphasis on pride. The latter kept me protected from harm. It’s not that I wanted it to keep me company on my journey, but it was my main source of survival. Don’t picture pride here as a puffed-up balloon; picture it as protective armor, keeping others out and letting no one in.

The paper was folded up and placed inside the gift bag. It was a letter and not a short one at that, so I glanced at it before welling up with tears and gently returning it to the bag. These were not words that could be skimmed and understood. Inherently, because of the giver, I knew they would need to be ingested privately.

As we crawled into bed later that night, the letter wooed me. I waited for my husband to drift off before carefully unfolding the paper. Tears seemed inevitable, and I wanted to let myself experience the intimacy of the words on the page.

Mom,

As the days grow closer to my transition into motherhood, I can’t help but be filled with gratitude for the mother I have.

[[Full stop]]

Tears pour out as I type this as if I am reading the letter for the first time. They are healing words from my baby girl who now has a child of her own. She went on to speak to some of my childhood hurts and unmet needs with deep, compassionate kindness. She has always been a tender soul, but now I was on the receiving end. Kindness reaches forward and backward.

[I] worry that I may not be able to fill the shoes that have walked every step with me, leading by example, teaching me the vastness of a mother’s love—your shoes.

My shoes–the ones I feared were too worn and out of style. Unconditional love was often held hostage by my frustrations and exhaustion. I had not pictured myself doing a good job or being a good mother. My failures were ever before me, and rarely had I paused to celebrate any wins. Were there, in fact, times I led by example in a good way?

Her words penetrated my protective armor. They wrapped me into the sweetest embrace and held me. There was no fight left in me. As my husband’s breathing turned rhythmic, I closed my eyes and let her healing words do a rehabilitating work in me. There is power in recognition—when we pour into someone around us, when we articulate the good we see in others, and when we share from tender places–even when it is risky.

My prayer is that you would never wonder if your children knew how much they were loved by their mom. My prayer is that you would know the generational impact you have left on us. How lucky am I to have a mom who left shoes so big for me to fill and who holds my hand as I step into them?

Some words create seismic shifts. Hers ran contrary to my fears. They stood taller than my mistakes and regrets. All the years I spent feeling like I had let my children down flashed before me. Her words offered a different refrain. They added an and.

I was an exhausted mom, and I consistently loved my children.

I lost my cool, and I asked for forgiveness.

I struggled to enjoy the mundane moments, and I never stopped asking God to sustain me.

Two things can be true at the same time. Her words offering reordered my outlook. They invited me to remove my filter of fear and receive the truth. Healing happened in an inarticulate way that evening. I read the letter twice, wiped my eyes, and fell asleep with a peace I had not felt before.

People have routinely shared encouraging words with me, but if I am honest, it has been hard for me to believe them. I smile and thank the giver, but I rarely sit with them. Protective armor keeps others out and lets no one in. Pride skews truth.

Words have the power to heal if we will let them. I had to put something old down to let in something new. The result was more than I anticipated. I let my girl’s words heal a little girl’s wound when I chose to believe.

Boldly and bravely grab hold of the truth, even when it is hard to believe. Two things CAN be true.

In joyful anticipation,
Alyssa DeLosSantos
[A proud new Lolli–aka grandma]