Maybe it’s the version of you that wasn’t chosen.
The girl who waited for the text back.
The one who felt like she had to be less just to be loved a little.
Maybe it’s the fire in you.
The rage you were taught to suppress.
The part that doesn’t sound “graceful,” doesn’t sit quiet in the pews, doesn’t always forgive right away.
The part that protects your softness with thorns.
Or maybe—
it’s the healer in you who still needs healing.
The you who gives words to everyone else’s pain
but still questions if yours is too much.
Too repetitive.
Too ugly to say out loud.
Maybe it’s the artist in you who was once told your dreams weren’t realistic.
That storytelling wasn’t survival.
That sensitivity was a weakness.
So now, you over-explain your purpose just to feel understood.
You ask for permission, softly, when your gift was never meant to whisper.
Maybe it’s the mother in you who sometimes just wants to be held.
Who doesn’t have all the answers.
Who’s growing up while raising someone else.
And still wonders: Am I allowed to not be okay?
Maybe it’s your light.
The one they once loved until it burned too bright.
The voice that got quieter after they walked away.
The part of you that still wonders:
“If I shine again, will I be left again?”
What part of yourself are you still bargaining with?
Still editing?
Still softening just to be palatable?
What part of you are you trying to prove is worthy—
instead of just letting it be?
Because that part is not a liability.
It’s not too loud.
It’s not too broken.
It doesn’t need a disclaimer.
It isn’t something you have to earn love with.
It’s where the love is supposed to live.
And if no one told you yet—
you don’t have to wait for someone to validate that part to begin honoring it.
You don’t need an audience to be authentic.
You don’t need applause to be aligned.
Your job isn’t to prove yourself lovable.
It’s to remember that you already are.
Even when you’re messy.
Even when you’re misunderstood.
Even when you’re in process.
Start small.
Let that part come out in the journal first,
or in prayer,
or in trusted spaces.
Then let it live in the room with you.
Let it breathe.
You don’t need to dress it up.
You just need to stop hiding it.
You are not too much.
And you were never meant to earn love through perfection.
You’re meant to receive it, live in it, and give it—
starting with yourself.
