What I Don’t Tell Anyone, I Write to My Daughter

Every morning, I begin my day by writing to someone special.

Not because she’s the only one who might need comfort — but because she’s the one who holds my whole heart.

When I’m tired, I write. When I’m silent, I write. When I’m lost in thought or overwhelmed by feeling — I write to her.

She is my daughter.

My daughter is more than my child — she is the part of me that makes me whole.

She is the little heaven God gave me to hold on to, so I would never feel alone in this world.

I confide in her not because she understands it all — she’s still very young — but because watching her grow shows me something deeper: she is someone I can trust with my truths.

She may be small today, but I see strength in her spirit. She is the future I believe in.

Her story began with fear.

When it was almost time to give birth to her, the doctors told me she had Macrosomia — a condition I was not familiar with.

They explained it in a way that filled me with panic.

I lost hope. I feared the worst. I cried quietly, deeply, painfully.

I was ready for heartbreak.

But then… she came.

And when they placed her in my arms, breathing, healthy, warm — I realized they had been wrong.

They had planted fear, but God had planted life.

In that moment, it felt like heaven touched the earth.

I held a miracle.

My daughter is gold — not just valuable, but priceless.

She is my sky, my silence, my reason, and my peace.

That’s why I write to her every day.

So that even if I am not around someday, she will know who I was, how much I loved her, and what she meant to my life.

Every time I write to my daughter, I end with a prayer.

I ask God to give her every good thing this world can offer.

I ask Him to protect her from evil and from people who might hurt her spirit.

I ask that she never go hungry — that God will always provide her daily bread.

I pray that she grows in every way: physically, emotionally, spiritually, and in wisdom.

I also remind her of this one promise — she will never be alone.

I will give her siblings to grow with, love with, and journey through life with.

She may not know all of this now.

But one day, she’ll read these words and understand:

Mama prayed for me. Mama believed in me. Mama loved me deeply.

Sometimes I wonder if she will ever know how much she changed me.

Before she came into my life, I thought I understood love — but I didn’t.

Her presence taught me what it means to care for someone more than myself.

She gave me purpose. She gave me courage.

When I felt like giving up, the thought of her kept me going.

I often look at her tiny hands, and I whisper, “You saved me.”

One day, when she reads my letters, I hope she’ll know:

She was not just born into love —

She became the reason love stayed alive in me.

If this story touched your heart, I invite you to subscribe to my Vocal page so you can follow the rest of my journey.

I’ll soon be sharing more about the challenges I faced during my pregnancy — especially about Macrosomia, the emotional roller coaster, and how faith helped me hold on.

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Paccy's World.