Unlocking the Secrets of My Past: A Letter from Love to My Demons
Join me as I unravel the complexities of my inner battles and find peace in the shadows that once held me captive.
In my journey toward self-understanding, I’ve encountered many parts of myself I didn’t ever expect to meet up close and personal. These are the dark fragments, the shadows, the exiled parts. They are the voices of doubt, shame, and self-criticism that linger and lurk, the relentless inner critics that remind me of every unmet need and unhealed wound. They feel powerful and, at times, overwhelming, and for a long time have taken over my being. Yes me. For 40 years I lived a life without access to my own innermost Self.
From
’s Letter From Love
I received a prompt that felt almost like a dare:
“Dear Love, what would you have me know about my demons?”
The question was as terrifying as it was timely. I had been pondering questions around these parts all day long. During my journey I came to realize that these shadows—the voices I’d been wrestling with—were more than just obstacles. They were parts that had endured and silently carrying pain and unmet needs. And more importantly, they were waiting for me to acknowledge them.
In response to the prompt, I wrote this letter from Love—a letter to help me understand not just the demons, but also how to relate to them, hold them, and perhaps even thank them.
Ah, my dear. I know they seem powerful. I know they loom and linger, whispering, or maybe even shouting, at the edges of your mind. And yes, they are real. They feel real because they are real. But here’s something I want you to know: they are not here to punish you.
These demons—they’re parts of you. They’ve taken many forms over the years, from harsh voices that cut you down to heavy weights of shame you could barely carry. Yet in their own strange way, they thought they were protecting you. Each one represents something you couldn’t carry alone, a piece of pain too deep, too sharp, to be faced at the time. So, they wrapped around you like armor—heavy cloaks of silence, cloaks of self-criticism, cloaks of doubt. You wore them so long, they almost felt like part of you.
But they’re not all of you. Not the whole of you.
They are, in some sense, loyal keepers of your past, guardians of old wounds and unmet needs, silent protectors of fears and unspoken words. These are the parts that took form when life gave you no choice but to survive. They warned you, “Stay hidden. Be careful. It’s safer this way.” They stood guard when no one else could, becoming relentless inner critics, habits, and survival patterns that shielded you from harsher realities, from pain you couldn’t face alone.
But let’s look closer: why are they showing themselves now? Why now, after all these years?
Because they’re tired. Because they’ve held on for so long, they forgot they could ever let go. These parts of you—these shadows, these fragments—they are waiting. Waiting to be seen. Waiting to be heard. Waiting, finally, to set down the burdens they took on. They don’t want to control you. They want to rest. They’re afraid, yes, because they don’t know what it means to be released, but they’re also curious. Can you feel it? They’re ready, in their own way, for the possibility of letting go.
So, when you look at them, my love, look gently. Look as if you’re meeting an old friend, someone who’s been holding a heavy load in your absence. They might resist, they might roar, but they’re only afraid of being abandoned with their pain. What if you, as you are now, met them with the kindness they never expected to receive? What if they knew, finally, that they didn’t have to hold this alone anymore?
These demons—no, these protectors—they are not here to be defeated. You don’t need to fight them; you don’t even need to outsmart them. You only need to see them. To thank them. To let them know that you are here now, with all the clarity, all the courage, all the growing sense of self they could never have imagined.
Let them know, my dear, that they no longer have to write your story. They walked with you, guarded you on the path until you could take it alone. And now, you can set them free.
What would I have you know? That you are ready. That you are here. That they are part of the landscape, but they are not the whole canyon. They are chapters in your life, but they are not the ending.
You are the one who gets to decide. You, with your growing strength and compassion, are the one who can finally look at them and say, “Thank you. You can rest now. I’ve got this.”
With all my love, always,
Love
Writing this letter gave me a new perspective on my shadows. I began to see that my demons were not here to defeat me; they were here to show me what I had carried and, perhaps, where I had also been carried. They were guardians of my pain, protectors in their own strange way, but now, they too are ready for rest. I can feel that they don’t want to define me; they simply want to be acknowledged and gently released.
This reframing doesn’t mean I’m free of my demons, but it means I am starting to see them differently, as pieces of a journey rather than enemies along the path. They are chapters in a story that I get to shape. And with each day, each letter, each compassionate step, I am learning that I am the one who decides how the story unfolds.
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That sounds like such an interesting writing prompt, I want to give it a go myself now!