My Love Letter to Whoever Needs It
For the person feeling less-than today.
If you don’t know me, my name is Kelliann. I’ve performed professionally for ten years, in 41 states, trying to connect with audiences through the art of storytelling. Offstage, my journey has been anything but what it sounds like. In 2009, my father passed away two weeks after I moved into college, and I was back in 8am music theory one week later. Everyone couldn’t stop remarking on how strong I was when in reality, I was numbly compartmentalizing in a performing arts degree program that relied on my emotional availability to tap into that grief for a grade. And when I wasn’t numb, I was quietly livid. I outran my grief for ten years on autopilot, burning myself out by spreading myself too thin, overpromising and underdelivering in areas of my career and social life, and genuinely hating myself while using humor, faux confidence, and self-deprecation as a form of self-preservation.
My journey back to myself began when I was 29, and to some, especially for women, that sounds late and scary. It started with awareness that something wasn’t right which led to panic attacks. Through therapy, (more) panic attacks, and ultimately coping skills, I’m able to confidently live my life, rather than just hovering above it in fight, flight, or freeze. But being a late bloomer in so many ways means that almost all of my closest friends have already found their soulmates, or found them at a young age. So days like today can feel hard for a myriad of reasons.
But there’s good news. The good news is I’ve had this time to face my grief and heal, so when the right person steps into my path, I am the person I’ve dreamed of becoming. I’ve been able to support my friends through their milestones and learn from them for when it’s my turn. I’ve become an aunt, a bridesmaid, a maid of honor, and a godmother. I’ve created community where I once saw competition. I’ve learned to leave room for the duality of missing my Dad every day and being grateful for the way this formative loss has shaped me. I’ve rediscovered my sensitivity: my superpower. All while learning this hard truth: it takes as long as it takes.
What resonates from my story will differ from person to person, but if today makes you feel like you’re behind or late or unworthy or unlovable, allow me to be the one to tell you that you’re just right and what you’ve been through is no indication of how well you deserve to be loved by someone. Step into your discomfort and allow it to be your greatest teacher. Let people hurt you and love others anyway. Shower it on your family and your friends. Because if my grief has taught me anything it’s that our time here isn’t promised and there will never be enough of it to spend with the people you love. And besides, this day shouldn’t just be about romantic love anyway. So love out loud. Love proudly. Not only is it how we best honor those who’ve come before us, but it’s how we best honor ourselves. I love you. And if no one has said it to you today, Happy Valentine’s Day.
Love,
Kelliann