I’m not finished.
I’m not fully healed.
And I’m not trying to pretend I am.
I’m still growing roots where I once only survived.
Still learning how to speak without flinching,
how to love without needing to be fixed,
how to breathe without guilt for just being.
Every day I unfold a little more.
Some days I bloom,
some days I rest in the soil.
And both are sacred.
I’m still becoming—
and that’s more than enough.
