just when she thinks
she’s finally learned her worth,
she stumbles
and reaches for the old story.
the wound that knows heartbreak.
the wound that knows what it is
to be used by another
so they don’t have to feel their own pain.
but this version of her
is fleeting now.
she used to stay there much longer,
cutting herself
on the sharp edges
of another’s unloved pieces.
now she gently picks herself up
and remembers.
she no longer lives
in this house of cards.
and though she built it,
she can let it tumble
to the ground
and walk away.
from all that no longer serves her.
from all that would harm her.
from all that was once called
family.
origins.
survival.
now her feet walk on holy ground.
she knows her name.
and she knows
that stumbling
is how a child first learns to walk.
through essays, poetry, and music, i write about healing, consciousness, and remembering who we are beneath our survival.
i’d love to walk this path with you.