10/13/2025
"For Those Who Think They Are Breaking,
But Are Actually Becoming"
By Valerie Kashouty Sargent
This is not a breakdown.
This is the dismantling of everything
we agreed to carry.
The body is not betraying you.
It is rejecting the final lies. The pain, the heat, the muscle aches, the scars burning from decades ago —this is not illness. This is your form spitting out vows you never consciously made. The vows to hold it together. To absorb generational grief. To stay small for love. To keep the peace by abandoning yourself.
That architecture is collapsing.
Completion is here.
We are not healing anymore.
Healing belonged to the age of repair.
We have entered the age of shedding form.
The dreams —houses that don’t belong to us , things and people stuck , mirrors we can’t form a face in — these are not symbols. They are exits. Lives we are no longer tethered to. Selves we will not resurrect.
The body is not asking to be fixed.
It is demanding to be freed. This is the purge of contracts made in silence:
“I’ll carry it for them.” “I’ll disappear to stay loved.” “I’ll keep the lineage intact , even if it kills me.”
No more.
We did not come here to transcend.
We came here to expose. To embody.
To burn false sanctity to the ground.
Love is not comfort.
Love is combustion.
Divine Knowing is not guidance.
It is a command.
Completion is not peace. It is annihilation.
Many are waking up in pain and calling it failure. It is not failure. It is initiation.
You are not falling apart—
you are being unmasked.
You are not dying—
you are exiting the costume.
You are not lost—you are finally outgrowing the lie.
To the ones dreaming in fragments, raging in secret, aching in bone-memory:
You are the rupture.
You are the end of silent endurance.
You are the living refusal to carry
what is not yours.
Speak it now , not as prayer—
but as Decree:
“Take it. All of it.
Burn what I cannot name.
Strip what I cannot release.
I will not be the vessel of inherited pain.
I choose to stay — but on my terms.”
This is Completion.
Not ending—erasure of the distortion.
Not healing—resurrection of the original.
The age of masking is over.
The age of embodiment has begun.
Wake up.
Stand up.
Everything false is collapsing.
We are not here to soften it.
We are here to lead through it.
Oct 12, 2025
thefigleaf.net/journal-2/