When I was in high school, I had a friend who was struggling—
doubting herself, feeling discouraged, overwhelmed.
To encourage her, I started writing her letters.
Simple, heartfelt notes to remind her she mattered.
It was my way of reaching her when words were hard to say out loud and letters became something tangible she could read again – when needed.
One day, after reading one of those letters, she said something I’ve never forgotten:
“Your writing has the power to change the world.”
At the time, I didn’t fully grasp what those words meant—
but they lingered, echoing long after the moment passed.
I just knew that writing made me feel alive—like I could touch something deeper than myself, something that mattered.
But life has a way of crowding in.
There were bills to pay. People to care for. Roles to fulfill.
And somewhere between surviving and showing up for everyone else, the writing—the kind that could change lives—started to fade into the background. I started a book, poured parts of my soul into it, but progress was slow. Writing came only in stolen moments between work, parenting, and launching new ventures.
And I began to worry.
What if the message inside of me—the one I was born to share—died before it ever had a chance to live?
That fear sat heavy in my chest for years.
But then I began to look around and truly see the suffering in the world.
- The ache in people’s eyes.
- The instability and chaos in the news.
- The heartbreak of war, division, and disconnection.
I realized I didn’t have the luxury of waiting for the perfect time, or the perfectly edited manuscript. The world doesn’t need my masterpiece someday—it needed my presence now.
So I made a quiet promise to myself:
- To write something—anything—each day (well, most days).
- To offer a word of comfort, insight, or hope to those who might need it.
- To be a voice, however small, reminding people that they’re not alone.
And maybe, just maybe, one of those words will reach someone at just the right moment.
Maybe it will feel like a warm hand on their back, or a lantern in the dark.
This isn’t the book I set out to write—but it is a start.
And for now, that’s enough.
My hope is simple:
That something I write—some small piece—will help you feel seen.
That you’ll know your pain is real, your story is sacred, and you’re not walking through this alone.
Thank you for reading.
I’ll keep writing—for you, and for the girl I used to be who believed her words could still matter.
You matter!
~ Leisa
