
You gave me a chance
when they had already decided
I was done.
When my mistakes were louder
than my effort,
when my name came with footnotes,
when worth felt conditional
and temporary.
They saw my failures
and stopped there.
You saw the space after—
the trying,
the rebuilding,
the quiet work no one applauds.
You didn’t flinch at my history.
Didn’t ask me to explain
every scar.
You just handed me room
to be more
than what broke me.
You believed in a version of me
I was still learning how to trust.
You treated me like someone
becoming—
not someone ruined.
And maybe you’ll never know
how much that mattered.
How being given a chance
can feel like oxygen
when you’ve been holding your breath
for years.
You gave me a chance
when they thought I was worthless—
and in doing so,
you reminded me
I never was.
