The Quiet Becoming
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.
