Letter From A Mature Woman
Growing up implies accepting ourselves, loving ourselves and above all making peace with our “being a woman”, since there is always the possibility of going through a complicated moment where the darkness of the problems can prevent us from seeing the way out and we need to start from this encounter with ourselves , as a starting point, to reverse the situation. In this way we will avoid getting stuck, anchored and surpass ourselves. This is what this letter from a mature woman to you tries to convey.
As a woman you understand that socially we are constantly invited to question what maturity means in our hearts. To be eternally beautiful, to use cosmetics to avoid aging and to mock time are the fundamental points of a social structure that does not allow us to fully mature.
For a woman approaching maturity, it is necessary to find an emotional point from which she can connect with her soul, her essence and memories. Today we invite you to share a beautiful letter from a mature woman made at that time, with infinite feelings to share and what we can always learn from.
Brave woman to defend what you believe
Pretty woman on the outside, pretty on the inside, with a skin as wonderful as you. Brave to defend what you believe in but open and respectful of other options. This is how I have felt in the endless and deep talks in which we have embarked. Defender of children … you have listened to me with your heart, we have spoken with your soul …
Always ready to help. Demanding with yourself. Cheerful, funny, beautiful smile where there are, affectionate, you have won me. Meticulous, perfectionist, attentive, not lacking in “na”. Committed to yours until the end. Mother above all else, also wife, sister, aunt, daughter.
With this letter from one mature woman to another, I point out that you love the infinite, valuing the little things, seeing the hearts of people. So I recommend it to you in this letter from a woman to another woman.
Take responsibility for what you can
Woman of character, emotional who loves and suffers at the same time. Remember? Take responsibility for what you can, you cannot give more and if you do not take care of yourself and pamper yourself .. you will get sick and thus you cannot help. We each have to assume our person and move forward.
The supports? The family almost always, financially, emotionally, loving us a lot without judging, but the one who walks is one, always. Blaming others, we throw balls out avoiding looking at each other. How bad is envy! They say. Yes!
If we let it spread, if not it will remain only for those who have it, and I do not want that, thank you. However, I adore your joy, your will to live, your strength even if you are weak … and I have soaked myself in that, I do allow it to enter me.
You are worth for what you are, not for what you work
I enjoy it, I savor it and I turn it into a smile when I think of you. You are as delicious and exquisite as your cakes, in texture, smoothness, presentation, work and taste! Go your way and don’t be discouraged. You are not worth only for what you work but for who you are, because if you were not like that, you would not do it so well.
I will remember with affection and emotion the history of the tree. A planted tree remembering life. The body leaves but the soul is not forgotten. You can see it in a leaf, in a fruit, in the root, in a seed, in a star. As long as there is one who remembers it, that tree will not die. It will always reinvent itself and it will only grow.
Well, what else to tell you sweetheart. That I am very happy that our paths have met. There are always good people walking … you just have to be well to see them and you are one of them. Many, many hugs with all my positive energy that melts with yours and never leaves you. I give you all my love and understanding, yours is, yours is.
I hope that this letter from one woman to another has allowed you to see what you may have been unaware of until now. Give yourself the value you deserve, respecting yourself, pampering yourself, growing …
Until forever.
