I leaned gently into the shape

of the woman I thought I should be—

Steady.

Loyal.

Kind.

Hardworking.

And quiet.

I gave all of myself

to the roles I was handed—

woman,

mother,

worker,

caretaker of everyone’s peace but my own.

I stayed

when I should have run.

Loved

when I was left empty.

Offered grace

when I was met with silence.

I believed that mercy would be enough

to earn gentleness in return.

And somewhere along the way,

I began to disappear—

a soft unraveling,

thread by thread.

Still, I hoped.

That someone might love me

the way I’ve always loved others—

with tenderness, with depth,

with no fear of the messy parts.

I long to be seen

not just for what I give,

but for all that I am—

the flawed, the beautiful,

the tired and the still-dreaming.

I want a life beyond the list.

Beyond the tasks and the timing.

I want joy that lingers,

and love that chooses me

without conditions.

I want to be told

that it’s okay to follow what stirs my soul,

even if it leads me away

from the well-worn path.

That choosing happiness

is not failure,

but faith.

I want the safety I’ve given freely,

the honesty I’ve spoken into silence,

to return to me

in soft echoes.

To be held without fixing.

To be chosen without question.

To grow beside someone

who sees me as I am—

not too much,

never too little.

I’ve glimpsed this life—

the one where I belong

to no one’s expectations

but my own.

And I am learning

that I do not have to break myself

to be worthy of peace.