Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

Twas the night before Christmas Eve Eve and all through my head thoughts of wrapping are stirring.

The real kind, lots to do there.  But also the figurative kind, like you a little bit, Santa.

I haven’t written a letter to Santa in, OMG, who knows how long, but here goes.  I would like my Self Worth back, fully wrapped in a bow and ready to go.

Somewhere along the way I lost most of it or some of it, depending up on the day.  Most times I manage to pin bits and parts back to myself, but they only hold for brief amounts of time, sometimes even years, almost fooling me that it’s back.

And then a really strong gust of wind comes by and whooshes it all away, just like the fluff it was, and I am naked again and naïve and scared in the world.  And so I try and fake it.  Naughty, I know, but what else is a girl to do, I can’t walk around bosoms swinging and bottoms wagging. 

I’m kneeling before you now with a crown full of pleases and thank yous.  The kind I give out on a regular basis and I’m dressed fairly nicely, have a decent job, even an education and I’ve got a really good family.  I look the part.  Please.  The latest self-worth band-aids have come off and in their place I find myself flailing in a sea of tears, un-common sense and fear.

But I do keep trying, but the jig is up.  I can’t keep repeating I am good enough when I don’t feel that way, I can’t keep repeating I am enough when I feel way less than, I can’t keep it up.

But I know, I know, a sliver of me knows, I belong here.  I want the real thing.  I know it exists.  I’ve seen it.  I’ve had fleeting and forever moments where I tasted it, smelled it, wrapped my grubby arms around it and held it tight.

That’s all I want for Christmas. 

P.S. My favourite colours are pink and blue.  So either colour bow will do.

Sandra XXOO