02/05/2025
I have measured myself
against deadlines and devotion,
against what I thought love should feel like,
against the silence
when I needed words.
I have tried to earn my right to rest
by being useful,
by being wise,
by being everything all at once
goddess and ghost,
teacher and student,
lover and river.
There were mornings
when I braided strength into my hair,
and nights
when I scattered prayers like seeds
and still woke up hungry for proof.
But today
I remembered the quiet ceremony
that took place inside me,
when the old layers peeled back
and something ancient said:
you belong.
I remembered:
the ache is not failure
it’s metamorphosis.
I am not unfinished.
I am not too late.
I am not too much.
I am enough
not because I did it all
but because I kept becoming.
Because even in the unraveling,
I wove something sacred.
And even now,
with cracked hands
and a tired heart,
I still offer beauty.
Still carry breath.
Still carry truth.
I am enough
because I remember
who I am
when no one is watching.
And that…
is more than enough.
