“Once you let the unrealistic expectation of perfection fade, all that is left is you... and that is a wonderful thing to be." I wrote that silly little line in a journal once. Now, when I look back on it, it seems a little bit too “Hallmark-y” for my taste, but nevertheless I still believe in its truthfulness. I gave up the expectation that I would or should be perfect in this life a long time ago. Things go wrong–Goodness, at times things go horribly wrong. There have been countless doors closed, windows sealed shut, and escape panels blocked, so I built my own doors, windows, and paths forward. I have gone through these things that have tried to reduce me to nothing, attempted to make me lose focus, and derail me, but I know that I have a divine purpose and while I am not the sum of my experiences, I am the survivor and victor of them. In no way am I saying that you must embrace every abhorring, awful, cruel, and excruciating experience you may face. I am simply saying that it is possible and your life may be all the better for it. In order to fully love myself, I cannot hate the experiences that have molded me into who I am. I am a rape survivor, pregnancy loss survivor, and a childless mother and from those experiences and the strong desire to keep my life from spiraling into unhealthy venting outlets like drugs, alcohol, and sex, my pen met a page and I wrote…and wrote…and I kept writing…and I will keep writing. Journals filled to the brim with anger, frustration, sadness, loneliness, confusion, and pain. My Notes app was full of worries and depression-dipped song lyrics. Out of those heaps of words “Because Someone Forgot to Love You” was born because that is exactly how I felt and how I still feel in waves. I felt forgotten, like the world had left me behind. My body mentally and physically damaged sought asylum and I found that asylum in words. Shortly after “Because Someone Forgot to Love You” was published, I was selected to participate in “Dear Freedom Writer.” This does not mean that I am all better now. It does not mean that I don’t still have nauseating nightmares and fears that I can never seem to outrun. It means that God is aware of me. It means that I am grateful for the miracle of being able to smile and now I tend to do it a lot. It means that I recognize how blessed I am to have this literary outlet and support. It means that I appreciate and marvel at the friends I have been able to reach around the world who say “I didn’t realize it happened to someone else” and “I don’t feel so alone now” because I want to say the exact same thing back to them. I know that I am loved by Heavenly Parents. I know that my Savior, Jesus Christ, loves and pleads for me above. I know that the Holy Ghost has guided me to share and speak my truths. My multiple experiences and encounters with sexual abuse, sexual assault, and sexual violence, to some may seem like evidence that there is no Savior or that He hates me, but really the outcome and outlook I now have is evidence that He and my Heavenly Parents love me dearly. Amidst all of these trials, there is a light. For a while the light was hidden deep down in a thick darkness, but there were glimmers and there were moments of peace and moments when I would forget about it all, but now I don’t want to forget. I shudder to think that there is an entire world of women and children and men and people who have had similar experiences. If a little poem that I wrote in my southern Louisiana backyard between unending tears could help alleviate that pain no one should know of, a pain that I know so well, I am happy and honored to write it. I hope those who need it feel a little more at peace today, a little more okay,and a lot more understood. It’ll be okay. I promise. Take a breath and we’ll get through it together.