Little Amber Rae

I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately.

That little blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl with the ringlet curls.

Little Amber Rae.

So innocent.

So tender-hearted.

So full of trust before life taught her how deeply people can wound one another.

And today, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t look back at her with sadness.

I looked back and thought…

She would be so proud of me.

Not because my life was easy.

Not because I got everything right.

Not because I escaped heartbreak or disappointment.

But because I survived without losing the best parts of myself.

There were seasons that could have turned me bitter.

Seasons that could have made me cold, guarded, hard to reach.

There were moments I barely recognized my own life.

Moments I questioned my worth, my future, and whether healing would ever truly come, but somehow, through all of it, God kept preserving something inside me.

Softness.

Compassion.

Hope.

The ability to still love deeply after being hurt deeply.

And honestly?

That feels like a miracle.

Because survival is one thing.

But surviving without becoming cruel is another kind of strength entirely.

I think little Amber would look at the woman I’ve become and feel safe with her.

I think she’d love that I laugh loudly now.

That I create beauty from broken places.

That I use my story to help other people feel less alone.

That I still believe in love.

That I still believe people can heal.

That I still believe God restores things we thought were gone forever.

And maybe that’s part of healing we don’t talk about enough.

Not just grieving for the younger version of ourselves.

But becoming someone that younger version would feel proud to grow into.

Someone safe.

Someone honest.

Someone gentle.

Someone strong.

I used to think healing meant becoming an entirely different person, but now I think maybe healing is also this:

Finding your way back to who you were before the world convinced you that you had to disappear to survive.

And today, deep in my spirit, I felt it.

That little girl looking at me and whispering,

“You made it.”

And for the first time.

I believed her.