Sacred Reflection

I was raised to believe emotions were weakness,

that women were made to orbit men—

that I was the moon, and he, the sun.

I watched my mother dim for my father,

and thought this was devotion.

I made myself small.

Selfless.

Silent.

Believing this pleased God.

The more invisible I became,

the more pure I believed I was.

And in that quiet erasure,

I taught the ones I loved:

I don’t matter.

My dreams, my needs, my tenderness—

all set aside so they could shine.

But one day, I said no more.

Let the whole illusion burn.

What rose from the ashes?

A woman reclaiming her name.

A voice once trembling, now thunder.

A body once bent, now standing.

I will not disappear again.

I will not apologize for taking up space.

I will not trade sovereignty for acceptance.

I am not here to be defined by any man’s desire.

I am here to be holy, whole, and wildly free.