Growing up, I always thought I had to be perfect.

I thought that if I messed up—even once—it meant I wasn’t good enough.

That every mistake was proof that I wasn’t worthy.

That I had to earn love, trust, and respect by being flawless.

That weight never really left me.

But I’m writing this now because I don’t want you—any of you—to carry that same weight.

I want you to know something:

You are worthy.

Worthy of love.

Worthy of joy.

Worthy of everything this life has to offer—even when it feels like you’re falling short.

Your mistakes don’t define you.

They shape you, yes.

But they don’t decide who you are or what you’re capable of becoming.

Failing doesn’t mean you're broken — it means you're learning. And I mean that with everything in me.

I know I don’t say it enough.

I don’t call as often as I should.

I don’t show up like I want to.

And yeah—I joke around, I tease, I give you crap.

But behind all of that?

I’m proud of you.

Each of you.

There’s something I admire in every one of you.

There are things I’ve learned from you—things you probably don’t even know you’ve taught me.

And no matter how bad I am at showing it, I look up to you.

I know things are hard right now.

We’ve all been through a lot—and there’s more ahead.

But I want you to remember this, especially on the hardest days:

You’re not alone.

Even if I haven’t said it. Even if I’ve been distant.

I am here.

And I’ll do better at being present. Not just in the big moments, but in the little ones too.

You don’t have to have it all figured out.

You don’t have to be perfect.

You’re allowed to fail, to feel lost, to start over.

What matters is that you keep going.

And I’ll be here — in your corner — cheering for you whether you hear it or not.

So if you ever need to be reminded of your strength, your worth, or your place in this world, come back to this page.

It’s not just a letter.

It’s me, letting you know:

I see you. I believe in you. And I love you.

Always your brother,