Hey everyone. This is a little longer than my usual posts, but I feel like I need to share it. Maybe it will resonate with some of you.
For as long as I can remember, the sea has been my sanctuary. As a child, my family would frequent the coast every summer, spending long, lazy days on the sandy shores, collecting shells and chasing the relentless tide. But one particular summer, my mother gifted me something that became the centerpiece of a journey I never knew I was on.
It was a piece of sea glass—soft blue, like the gentle sky at dusk, and smoothed by years of tumbling in the ocean. “This is a treasure,” she whispered, pressing it into my small palm. “It’s a reminder of transformation.”
For years, that sea glass sat on my windowsill, catching the light and my daydreams. I never thought much of it, other than it was something beautiful my mother had given me. But as the years passed, its significance grew foggy, much like the memory of my mother herself.
You see, my mother passed away when I was only ten. The years that followed were a blur of scheduled therapy sessions and awkward condolences. My father and I moved inland shortly after, away from the coast, away from the comfort of the sea and those memories. I suppose we both needed a change, a new start, though I know now we were really just running away.
The piece of sea glass moved with me through all the stages of my life—high school, college, first apartment. Always there, yet always just a part of the background noise of my life, until last week.
I was cleaning out my old childhood things, sifting through mementos of a past life. I unwrapped bundles of letters, photos, and then the sea glass fell out, landing with a gentle clink on the hardwood floor. For the first time in years, I picked it up and truly looked at it.
The light shifted, revealing a tiny white inscription etched into its surface—something I never noticed before, maybe because I never bothered to truly see. It read, “You are enough.”
A simple truth, hidden for years in plain sight. Tears welled up unexpectedly, and grief I thought was long buried rose up like a wave, threatening to drown me. I sat there on the floor, clutching the piece of sea glass, feeling my mother’s presence in a way I hadn’t for years.
In that moment, I realized something profound: I had spent a lifetime believing I needed to be more—more successful, more loving, more everything to make up for her absence. But, in truth, I am enough. I always have been, and she knew this. She made sure I would eventually know it too.
The next day, I drove to the coast—the place I had avoided for so long. Standing on the edge of the ocean, I let the wind carry away years of doubt and fear. I felt lighter, freer, like a piece of sea glass released from the grip of the tide.
I understand now that this journey isn’t just about finding out who I am, but remembering that who I am is enough. This little piece of sea glass was a reminder, all these years, waiting patiently for me to acknowledge its truth.
So, if you have something special, a memento, something you keep close without understanding why, maybe it holds a truth you need to uncover. Don’t wait as long as I did to find out.
Thank you for reading. I hope you all find your own truth, whatever it may be.