Hey everyone, I hope you’re doing okay out there. I’m writing this with a full and honest heart—something that I’ve kept hidden, even from myself, for far too long. It all started a few weeks ago when I was going through a box of winter clothes.
Amongst the tangle of woolen scarves and mismatched gloves, I found an old sweater I hadn’t seen in years. It was emerald green with little white specks—tiny reminders of snowy afternoons. My grandmother knitted it for me when I was about seventeen. I held it up, feeling the heavy weight of yarn and memories, intending to fold it neatly away.
But, as soon as the wool brushed against my skin, I was flooded with emotions, memories. It still faintly smelled of her—of lavender and sunlight, of safety. And underneath that comforting aroma, there was something else I hadn’t noticed before: a tiny pocket stitched on the inside, almost hidden in the pattern.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I slipped my fingers into that pocket to explore. Out came a small note, folded so many times it was intricately creased. I almost laughed at the thought of my grandmother tucking notes into unexpected places—her way of stashing love away for a rainy day.
The note read, “To my dear Emily. When you find this, remember: you have the heart of a lion and the soul of a poet. Use them well.”
In an instant, I was back in her kitchen, watching her hands work magic with yarn as she hummed her favorite tune. I could hear her voice, feel her presence so vividly that it was like she had never left. This note, this sweater—it was all the love I had stored away, unacknowledged.
Growing up, I never thought much of myself. I wasn’t particularly bold or talented. I often felt like a background character in my own life. But my grandmother…she saw something different. She saw my potential, and somehow, I had managed to overlook it all these years.
The note wasn’t just a reminder of her love, but also an invitation to see myself through her eyes.
I spent the next few days unraveling what this meant for me, what it meant to have the heart of a lion and the soul of a poet. I started writing again, something I hadn’t done in years. Poems, stories, snippets of thoughts—I let them pour out of me, raw and unfiltered.
Recently, I stood in front of a small group at the local library and read one of my works. My hands trembled, and my heart raced, but I felt alive, seen. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
The discovery of that simple, unexpected note had unlocked something deep within me. It allowed me to embrace a part of myself I’d hidden away for far too long. I think my grandmother knew this journey wouldn’t be easy; maybe that’s why she tucked her words into the warmth of a sweater, knowing I would find it when I was ready.
I wanted to share this with you all not just to honor her memory, but to remind you that we all have hidden truths waiting to be discovered. Sometimes, they’re locked away in unexpected places, waiting for the right moment, the right heart to find them.
Thank you for listening.