She came back in fragments.

Memory by memory.

Breath by breath.

Like the echo of glass wings returning home

after lifetimes of forgetting.

She had spent years shape-shifting.

And she became so good at this:

Fitting into roles that didn’t hold her.

Trying to be soft, but not too soft.

Strong, but not intimidating.

Confident, but not aggressive.

Good, but never too much.

Palatable. Presentable.

Small enough to be loved.

She forgot her wildness.

Her fire.

Her sacred sensuality.

Her ancient knowing.

The way her body carried wisdom

even when her mind was at war with itself.

She didn’t know that the constant fear

was actually her unseen fire.

That her aggressive attitude

was really her hidden passion.

That her restlessness

was her suppressed spirit trying to break free.

But the soul never forgets.

And when the time came,

when the pretending grew too heavy,

when the silence became too loud,

when the longing cracked open her chest,

she began to remember.

Not all at once.

But in sacred whispers.

In the ache of being unseen.

In the hunger to come home to herself.

In the quiet moments that asked her to feel

instead of fix.

She began to shed the illusions,

that love must be earned,

that softness is weakness,

that her power lies in how little she asks for.

She no longer needed to be perfect.

She no longer feared being misunderstood.

She no longer made herself small

to make others comfortable.

She began to rise,

not as someone new,

but as who she was

before the world told her she had to be someone else.

This is the echo of her soul remembering,

the quiet return of the woman

she always was.

Delicate but fierce.

Radiant but often unseen.

Made of glass wings and firelight.

Not broken.

But becoming.

Rising.

Awakening.

May you remember who you were

before the world asked you to shrink.

Before your fire was dimmed,

your softness questioned,

your spirit silenced.

May you return to the rhythm of your own breath,

the wild knowing of your body,

the quiet whisper of your soul.

May the parts of you that were hidden,

shamed, or scattered

rise like sunlight through broken glass,

imperfect, radiant, whole.

You are not here to be small.

You are not here to be pleasing.

You are here to be real,

to be radiant,

to remember.

And in the echo of your becoming,

may every woman who forgot herself

hear the call

to come home.

With love,🤍

Aniela

www.MindfulTherapist.us

#empoweredwomen 

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