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Today I fell a tiny bit in love with someone’s words.

My soul twists to face them, like a flower arching to capture the sun and soak up the rain.

And I know now that I am parched.

Hiding in the shadows.

Afraid to be seen. Because being seen risks rejection. Dismissal. Disdain. 

Scorn.

I want to draw closer to this human who houses the heart and mind that penned those words.

Brush against her soul.

Learn the source of her strength.

I want to roll around in her words until they permeate my skin.

Wrap them around me like the warmest, softest, blanket.

And set them under my feet to build the staircase to the place I long to be. 

They offer a path of escape from my brain.

The one that screams at me to take up less space - literally and figuratively.

The one that taunts me with doubts and insecurities.

The one that harbours echoes from a past that wasn’t always kind.

The one that seeks to silence me for fear of how my words might come back to harm me.

Her words touched something in me.

Something I failed to bury. 

Something that wants to break free.

Another piece of me.

And I see.

I see the importance of words. 

Not just her words, but mine. 

And yours.

Through our words, we offer one another a path forward, a hand up, a shoulder to rest our weary hearts on for a moment or two before we pick up and carry on.

I see the importance of surrounding myself with women who have walked the path I’m not sure I can find on my own. Women whose words will uplift, encourage, comfort, and challenge. 

But gently.

Because I am a broken soul.

And words, they hurt.

They also heal.

And I want to be one who can offer you a healing word.

A comforting presence.

A safe space.

And that space? It has to be big enough for everyone who needs it.

So I need to be bigger.

Louder.

So that I can be a softer place to land for my daughters.

For the women who need to hear what I long to say. 

Women whose screams echo my own.

And I need to seek out those women who offer me the same.

Those who are cheerleaders and encouragers.

Truth tellers and leaders.

Those who will cry with me, laugh with me, and push me forward, without taking the steady presence of their palm from my back until I’m ready to stand alone.

Surround yourself with women who want your healing and their own as desperately as you do.

And scream. 

Whisper. 

Write. 

Sing. 

Set your words free.

Somebody needs to hear them.

 

 

 

Where did I learn to shrink and shrink and shrink like a bar of soap wearing away with use?

I want more than a life that slips away in their hands with nothing left for myself.

Jasmin Kaur

 

Scream

So that one day a hundred years from now

Another sister will not have to dry her tears

Wondering where in history she lost her voice

Jasmin Kaur