
09/08/2025
Maybe this isn’t a story.
Maybe it’s a crack. A breath. Maby
A beginning.
I don’t have the right words for it all. But I’ve carried so much in silence.
Some of it wasn’t even mine.
It came from my mother. And her mother. From my father’s mother too. A lineage of women who were forced to be quiet,
who learned to survive by disappearing parts of themselves.
I thought I was supposed to do the same.
I used to wonder what I truly needed.
But how could I have known?
No one had ever seen me clearly enough for that knowing to rise.
I’ve learned to listen for what someone isn’t saying.
That’s where the truth lives.
In the tightness behind a smile.
In the pause after “I’m fine.”
In the eyes that can’t quite meet yours.
And now, I stay.
I don’t look away from the quiet anymore.
Not in others. Not in me.
Maby healing isn’t about saying everything clearly & perfectly...
it’s just…
sitting in the quiet together, & let the truth of what rise & trembles come, finally being heard.
We’re not here to fix the past.
We’re here to feel it.
To let it move through us,
so it doesn’t keep living inside us.
Its not in the words, It's in the feeling,
And maybe… that’s what we’re here to remember...
🖤
Elene
(from my latest on Substack, link in bio)