Mullen's Miracles Community, 

I have been acquainted with a very long time friend of Eric's, who as we all do, had a period of life that was challenging.  He has made so many changes in his life, I am super excited to be on the sidelines, cheering him on, to watch where life takes him.

Today, he shared a letter with me, written to his younger self, as an assignment in a Sociology class.

With his permission, I am sharing this beautiful letter of hope. 

Much Love,

Kathy 

Dear Past XXXX,

When I look back on my past, I see a version of myself who was trying to survive more than anything else. I see a kid who grew up being bullied by the very people who were supposed to protect him — his older siblings. I see someone who carried a heart that was too big for the world around him, someone who cared so deeply for others that he forgot to care for himself. I see someone who learned to put everyone else first because he thought that was the only way to be loved. And I see someone who faced pain that no one should ever have to face, including the loss of a six‑month‑old son and a near‑death car accident that sent him down a dark path. When I reflect on all of this, I realize how much I wish I could go back and talk to my younger self. I wish I could sit with him, look him in the eyes, and tell him everything I’ve learned — not to erase the pain, but to help him understand that he deserved better, and that he would grow into someone stronger than he ever imagined.

If I could speak to my younger self, the first thing I would tell him is that the bullying he experienced was never his fault. Growing up, I didn’t understand why my siblings treated me the way they did. I thought maybe I wasn’t good enough, or maybe something was wrong with me. I carried that belief for years, letting it shape how I saw myself and how I let others treat me. But now, looking back, I know the truth: their behavior came from their own issues, not mine. I would tell my younger self that he didn’t deserve to be hurt, and that the pain he felt was real and valid. I would tell him that he had every right to stand up for himself, even if he didn’t know how at the time. I would remind him that the way people treat you often reflects who they are, not who you are.

I would also tell my younger self that having a caring heart is not a weakness. For so long, I believed that caring too much made me vulnerable. I thought that putting others first was the only way to keep peace or to feel needed. I didn’t realize that constantly giving without receiving anything back was draining me, leaving me empty and exhausted. I would tell him that it’s okay to care deeply, but it’s not okay to forget about yourself in the process. I would tell him that boundaries are not selfish — they are necessary. I would tell him that he deserves the same love and support he gives to everyone else. And I would tell him that one day, he will learn how to balance his heart with his own well‑being.

The hardest part of my past reflecting on is losing my son. There are no words that can fully describe the pain of losing a child. It changes you forever. It breaks you in ways you didn’t know you could break. If I could talk to my younger self during that time, I wouldn’t try to give him advice right away. I would sit with him in silence first, because sometimes silence is the only thing that makes sense in moments of deep grief. Then I would tell him that the pain he feels is not something he has to hide or push away. I would tell him that grieving doesn’t make him weak — it makes him human. I would tell him that healing doesn’t mean forgetting, and that his son will always be a part of him. I would tell him that it’s okay to cry, to scream, to feel lost. And I would tell him that even though the pain will never fully disappear, he will learn how to carry it without letting it destroy him.

After losing my son, life didn’t get easier. The near‑death car accident that followed pushed me into a darkness I didn’t know how to escape. I felt like everything was falling apart, like the world was closing in on me. I didn’t recognize myself anymore. I was angry, hurt, confused, and numb all at the same time. If I could speak to my younger self during that period, I would tell him that the darkness he felt was not permanent. I would tell him that even though it felt like he was drowning, he would eventually find a way to breathe again. I would tell him that surviving that accident was not a coincidence — it was a sign that his story wasn’t over. I would tell him that he had strength inside him that he hadn’t discovered yet, and that one day, he would look back and realize how far he had come.

I would also tell my younger self that asking for help is not a sign of weakness. Growing up, I learned to deal with everything on my own. I didn’t want to burden anyone with my problems, and I didn’t think anyone would understand anyway. But now I know that healing often requires support. I would tell him that it’s okay to lean on others, to talk about what he’s going through, and to let people in. I would tell him that he doesn’t have to carry everything alone. And I would tell him that reaching out for help is one of the strongest things a person can do.

Looking back, I realize that every painful experience shaped me into the person I am today. Bullying taught me resilience. My caring heart taught me compassion. Losing my son taught me the depth of love and the reality of grief. The car accident taught me the value of life and the importance of choosing a better path. And the darkness I went through taught me how to fight for myself. If I could tell my younger self anything, it would be that he is stronger than he thinks, and that every struggle he faces will eventually become part of his strength.

I would tell him that life will hurt, but it will also heal. I would tell him that he will grow, even when he feels stuck. I would tell him that he will find peace, even after chaos. And I would tell him that he will become someone he can be proud of — someone who survived, someone who learned, and someone who kept going even when it felt impossible.

Most of all, I would tell him that he deserves love, happiness, and stability. I would tell him that he is worthy of good things, even if his past tried to convince him otherwise. I would tell him that his story matters, and that his future is brighter than he can imagine.

Reflecting on my past has shown me how far I’ve come. It has reminded me that pain does not define me — growth does. And even though I can’t go back and change what happened, I can use what I’ve learned to move forward with strength, clarity, and purpose. My younger self went through more than I should have, but I survived. And because of my past self, I am who I am today.

Looking back on my past through this project has helped me understand my life in a deeper and more compassionate way. Writing a letter to my younger self allowed me to revisit experiences that shaped me — the bullying from my siblings, the way I cared for others more than myself, the loss of my son, and the trauma of my near‑death accident. Putting these moments into words helped me see not only the pain I carried, but also the strength I developed along the way. It reminded me that my younger self was doing the best he could with the tools he had, and that the person I am today was built through survival, resilience, and growth.

Analyzing these experiences sociologically helped me understand that my story is not just personal — it is connected to larger social forces. Concepts from Chapter 1 showed me how the sociological imagination connects private struggles to public issues. The bullying I faced reflected power dynamics within families, not personal failure. My caring nature was shaped by cultural expectations and emotional socialization, not just personality. Seeing my experiences through this lens helped me understand that many of the challenges I faced were influenced by social structures that existed long before I did.

Chapters 4 and 5 helped me see how socialization and group interactions shaped my identity. My family taught me roles and behaviors that followed me into adulthood, including putting others first and staying quiet during conflict. Trauma forced me into resocialization, where I had to rebuild myself emotionally and mentally. Group dynamics within my family shaped how I saw myself, and symbolic interactionism helped me understand how those early interactions influenced my self‑worth. Sociology gave me language to understand why I became who I became — and how I can continue to grow beyond those early patterns.