09/05/2025
There is a fear that quietly lives in the hearts of many women.
Itās not the fear of wrinkles or of a cane, nor that loneliness we sometimes dread.
Itās another fear. Deeper.
The fear of fading away inside a body that slowly stops responding.
Of no longer being able to get up on your own, reach the bathroom, dress without help.
The fear of becoming dependent.
Sometimes I wake up and think about it in silence, as if saying it out loud would make it real.
What if one day I canāt manage on my own?
If my hand trembles and the brushes slip from my fingers?
If memory decides to fade in moments, leaving empty spaces where names, faces, flavors used to be?
No, I donāt want pity in anyoneās eyes.
I want respect.
Because the body may fail, but the soul remains alive, burning, strong.
You can grow old, but you remain a woman.
Courageous, worthy, present.
And yet, it hurts.
It hurts to see how the elderly are sometimes treated: with annoyance, with condescension, as if they were clumsy children.
That is the greatest fear: not just dependenceā¦
but becoming a burden. Being seen as a weight.
So, for as long as I can, I rise.
I make myself coffee. I dry my tears.
I wrap myself in my own embrace and remind myself that I am worthy.
Always.
Because if one day I canāt do it alone, I want those by my side to know:
I donāt need compassion.
I want love that respects, that doesnāt hurt.
And if I need a hand, let it be a hand that liftsā¦ not one that humiliates.
Old, yes.
But never extinguished.
Never empty.
Because even in a body that yields, there still lives a woman full of light.
( āļø Live healthy live better )
