04/14/2026
I have a dream—
that what has been carried in silence will find its voice.
I have a dream—
that the grief held in women’s bodies across generations
will no longer remain buried beneath duty, resilience, and survival.
That the daughters will not have to inherit
what was never named.
That the weight passed down in whispers, in expectations, in unspoken sorrow
will begin to loosen its hold.
I have a dream—
of women remembering the wisdom within their own bodies.
The pulse of the heart that refuses numbness.
The quiet knowing that what was endured does not have to be repeated.
That courage will not always look like strength,
but like softening.
Like telling the truth.
Like allowing what was once hidden to be seen.
I have a dream—
of healing that is not isolated, but shared.
Where one woman’s restoration becomes a pathway for another.
Where grief is witnessed, and in being witnessed, begins to transform.
That from what was fractured, something living will rise—
not untouched, but made more whole through the courage to feel, to remember, and to reconnect.
And that what flows through us now
will no longer be only pain—
but also hope,
belonging,
and a deeper kind of life.
May what we carry begin to change.
May what we pass on be lighter.
May healing rise—through us, and beyond us.
FOLLOW ME ON PINTEREST :
We Carry Each Other: Ink art on Grief, Healing & Interdependence
