Essays for women who are done performing “fine” and ready to listen to themselves again — on self-trust, power, and coming home to who they really are.
There was nothing on fire. No crisis. No one waiting on me. And my body reacted like I’d just broken a rule. I was sitting at my desk, halfway through another to-do list marathon, when it hit me: I didn’t actually have anything to prove that day. No deadline. No
The first time I said no and didn’t follow it with an explanation, I waited for lightning to strike. It didn’t. No one yelled. No one crumbled. The world didn’t end. But my nervous system didn’t get the memo. I felt it in my chest — that familiar spike of
The day I chose myself, my body was shaking. I’d been fighting to survive in a toxic environment for over a year — proving, overworking, staying quiet in rooms that weren’t built for women who speak up. When I finally named what was wrong, I wasn’t met with accountability. I
I once rewrote a text seventeen times before sending it. Seventeen. I wasn’t crafting poetry — I was trying to make sure I didn’t sound too direct, too emotional, or too much of anything. I just didn’t want to say the wrong thing. That’s what overthinking really is — not
Your body never lies — but she will send a bill if you keep ignoring her. So many women spend years disconnected from their bodies, taught to manage them instead of trust them. We see them as projects to fix — too soft here, too heavy there, never quite enough.
