Writers 
when I wake without the weight
of yesterday resting on my chest,
when the silence no longer feels like loneliness
but like a quiet place
where my soul can finally breathe.
There will be a day
when I stop apologizing
for the person I had to become
just to survive the storms
that once convinced me
I would never see the sun again.
I have spent so long
searching for pieces of myself
in places that could never hold me,
in people who only knew
the version of me
that I offered when I was afraid.
I have mistaken being needed
for being loved,
mistaken being busy
for being fulfilled,
mistaken staying
for being strong.
But I am learning.
I am learning that sometimes
walking away is not weakness.
Sometimes the bravest thing
a heart can do
is close a door
without knowing what waits beyond it.
I am learning
that I do not have to bloom
on someone else's timeline.
The moon does not compete
with the morning sun,
and the ocean never questions
why the river takes another path.
Perhaps I am allowed
to take my time.
Perhaps healing
does not always look like happiness.
Sometimes it looks like getting out of bed.
Sometimes it looks like saying no.
Sometimes it looks like choosing yourself
after years of choosing everyone else.
And perhaps becoming whole
does not mean returning
to who I used to be.
Perhaps it means meeting
the person I am becoming
and loving her completely.
So I will gather my courage
from the places where fear once lived.
I will turn my scars
into reminders,
not definitions.
I will forgive myself
for the years I spent
trying to be enough
for people who had already decided
not to see my worth.
I will plant new dreams
where old ones once died.
I will laugh again
without wondering
when the happiness will disappear.
I will love again,
but this time
I will not abandon myself
to keep someone else close.
And when the past
calls my name from behind me,
I will listen gently
not because I intend to return,
but because I owe compassion
to the person who survived it.
One day,
I will look into the mirror
and see more than my scars.
I will see every morning
I chose to continue.
Every tear
that taught me tenderness.
Every ending
that made room for beginning.
Every broken piece
that became part of something stronger.
And maybe then
I will finally understand:
I was never lost.
I was simply becoming
someone I had not yet learned
how to recognize.
And when I find myself again,
I hope I am gentle with her.
I hope I tell her,
“You made it.
You are still here.
And this time,
you are home.”
