Sacred Reflection

All I ever wanted was to be known.

Not the mask.

Not the role.

Not the performance.

But the real me—

tender, introspective, radiant with truth.

As a child, my voice was not heard.

My body misread.

My softness disciplined into silence.

So I hid beneath layers—

adaptable, pleasing, lost in the hustle

of becoming what they wanted.

But my soul never stopped whispering,

“Come home.”

Now, I peel back the facade.

I stand here raw, sovereign, unafraid.

I want to be known.

Not just liked.

Not just admired.

Known.

Seen in my softness.

Heard in my honesty.

Met in my depth.

And if I leave nothing else behind,

let it be this:

My sons will say,

“She was brave.”

“She was real.”

“I knew my mother—not the mask, but the woman.”

She did not hide behind fear.

She did not twist to fit the mold.

She became.

And in her becoming,

she gave us all permission to be real, too.