Dear Santa, This Message Won't Fit in Your Bag

A Christmas Letter To Every Woman About Identity, Authenticity, Love and Becoming

Dear Santa,

I know you're used to getting letters about toys and gadgets. Things that fit neatly into your bag. But this Christmas, I'm writing you a different kind of letter.

I'm asking you to deliver a message. To every woman in the world. To the ones who've forgotten who they are. To the ones who've been hiding. To the ones reading this right now, feeling something stir inside them.

This letter isn't about wishes that can be wrapped in pretty paper. It's not about gifts that come from the North Pole. This is about the gift of truly seeing yourself.

So Santa, will you tell them this for me?

The Woman I Think About

Santa, there's a woman I think about often. She's everywhere and nowhere. She's in the supermarket, the office, the school gates, the Christmas dinner table. She's not unhappy, exactly. She's just... absent. Present in body but absent in spirit. There in the room but not really there in her life.

She wakes up every morning and puts on a costume. Not clothes—a costume. The outfit of the role she's meant to play. Mother. Professional. Wife. Daughter. Friend. All the roles except the one that matters most: herself.

And here's the heartbreaking part: she thinks this is what it means to be grown up. She thinks sacrifice means invisibility. She thinks being responsible means being colourless. She thinks putting others first requires putting herself last.

But that's not sacrifice. That's disappearance. I know her because I was her. Standing in my perfectly organised wardrobe filled with "appropriate" clothes that made me feel absolutely nothing. Choosing outfits based on what wouldn't offend, wouldn't attract attention, wouldn't make anyone uncomfortable.

The only person uncomfortable was me. Because every time I reached past that jewel-toned dress to grab another black top, I was choosing. I was choosing invisibility over authenticity. I was choosing safety over truth. I was choosing everyone else over myself. And you can only make that choice so many times before you forget you ever had a choice at all.

The Truth About Transformation

Santa, here's what nobody tells women about transformation: it doesn't happen all at once. It happens in moments. Small moments. Quiet moments. Moments when you choose differently than you did yesterday.

It happens when you reach for the colour that scares you instead of the black that hides you. It happens when you wear the new dress instead of saving it for "someday." It happens when you look in the mirror and hold your own gaze instead of looking away. It happens when you stop asking "can I?" and start declaring "I am."

That's the transformation. Not becoming someone else. Becoming more fully yourself.

The Letter I'm Really Writing

So Santa, here's my real Christmas wish. Not for me - I've already found what I was looking for. My wish is for every woman reading this. For every woman you meet on your Christmas Eve journey. The ones who've been hiding. The ones who've been waiting. The ones who've been choosing invisibility over and over because they think that's what maturity looks like.

Tell them this, Santa:

Stop waiting for permission and start giving it to yourself. Stop dressing for survival and start dressing for joy. Stop hiding who you are and start celebrating it.

Look at your wardrobe and see possibility instead of problems. Open your heart to the colours you've been denying yourself. Recognise the woman in the mirror instead of the stranger you've become.

Remember. Not just the child you were, but the woman you've always been underneath all the "shoulds" and "supposed tos." The woman with opinions and preferences and desires. The woman who deserves to be seen. The woman who deserves to take up space. The woman who deserves to shine.

That woman? She's not lost. She's just been waiting for this Christmas. This choice. Right now, in this moment, every woman has an opportunity. Not to become someone else. But to become more fully herself. To reclaim what she's lost. To remember what she's forgotten. To choose what she's been denying.

The gift isn't in your bag, Santa. It never was. The gift is already hers. It's been hers all along. The woman's truth. All she has to do is unwrap it.

The Christmas That Changes Everything

Santa, tell them this could be the Christmas that everything shifts. Not because of what they receive, but because of what they choose. Not because of what someone gives them, but because of what they give themselves.

Permission. Visibility. Joy. Authenticity. Colour. Voice. Self.

This could be the Christmas they stop waiting and start becoming. The Christmas they stop hiding and start shining. The Christmas they stop performing and start living.

The Woman She's Becoming

Tell them she's already here, Santa. The woman they're becoming. The woman they've always been. The woman who's been waiting beneath all the layers of expectation and obligation.

She's the one who lingered too long looking at that jewel-toned dress in the shop window. She's the one whose heart skipped when she saw that vibrant colour. She's the one who smiled at her reflection that one time she wore something that truly felt like her.

She's not a future version. She's not a fantasy. She's already them. Just... more expressed. More visible. More aligned with their truth.

The question isn't "can I become her?" The question is: "when will I stop pretending I'm not already her?" Because they are. They always have been.

The Only Questions That Matter

So Santa, here are the questions I need you to ask every woman in the entire world this Christmas:

·      Are they ready to remember?

·      Are they ready to recognise?

·      Are they ready to reclaim?

·      Are they ready to let that five-year-old's wisdom guide them again?

·      Are they ready to honour their truth?

·      Are they ready to come home to themselves?

Because if they are - if they truly are ready - everything changes. The wardrobe stops being a battlefield and becomes a playground. Getting dressed stops being a burden and becomes a celebration. The mirror stops being an enemy and becomes a friend.

And most importantly? They stop being invisible and start being seen. By others, yes. But more importantly, by themselves. That's the transformation. That's the magic. That's the miracle.

My Christmas Wish

That's my Christmas letter, Santa. Not a wish list, but a truth list. Not requests for things, but recognition of what already exists. The gift is already wrapped. It's been sitting there all along, waiting to be opened. It's the gift of authenticity. The gift of alignment. The gift of finally being seen. Not by the world. By herself.

All you have to do is give this message to every woman on earth.

With love, light, and the courage to remember,

Magda

P.S. Santa, The woman reading this? She already knows what I'm saying is true. She knows. She's always known. The question was never "is this true?" The question was always "am I ready?" And if she's reading this, if she's made it this far, if something inside her is stirring - that's her answer. She's ready. Choose her.

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