On releasing the burden of others’ expectations and lies.
I’ve carried silence like a second skin— tight, suffocating, but familiar. I’ve carried blame for things I didn’t break, for wounds I didn’t cause, for truths I wasn’t allowed to speak. I’ve carried the hope that love would return if I just stayed soft enough, quiet enough, forgiving enough. But I won’t anymore. I’ll never carry the weight of secrets as if they were mine. I’ll never carry the shame handed to me when I asked for honesty. I’ll never carry the fear of being too much or not enough in the same breath. Because peace, for me, is truth spoken aloud. It’s boundaries drawn in bold. It’s walking through the fire and refusing to wear the smoke. I didn’t lose anything. I let go. And I’ll never carry it again.