Learning to Stay

I used to look for myself

in other people’s hands,

measure my worth

by how tightly they held on.

But I am learning—

slowly, unevenly—

how to stay

when the room gets quiet,

how to sit with my own heart

without asking it to be smaller.

I speak to myself now

the way I once begged others to.

Gently.

With patience.

With the understanding

that healing isn’t linear

and neither am I.

I forgive the versions of me

that didn’t know better,

that chose survival over softness,

that loved fiercely

without knowing how to be safe.

I am not perfect,

but I am present.

And today,

that is enough.

I am learning to be someone

I don’t have to run from—

someone I can come home to

and rest.