I compassionately close the book on the stories that kept me stuck. I am the author now!

The story I was handed is not the story I am living. I get to create a new story.

I forgive my mother for what she could not give, and I give myself what I always deserved.

I am worthy of love that does not require me to shrink, perform, or earn my place.

I release the grief of what was missing and open to the fullness of what is now possible.