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.
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
I heard my mother’s voice come out of my own mouth one day and nearly choked on it. Same tone. Same phrasing. Same edge. I was trying to sound calm, but what came out was control disguised as concern. I hung up the phone and sat there staring at the
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
Because every “I’m fine” comes with terms and conditions. The day I realized “I’m fine” had become my default setting, I was standing in the bathroom, staring at my reflection — jaw tight, neck stiff, eyes tired, smile forced. My body had been changing in ways that felt foreign. Sleep
