A voice for the ones who were never rescued, but rescued themselves. They didnât see me. Not when the harm was loud.Not when the silence w
A voice for the ones who were never rescued, but rescued themselves.
They didnât see me.
Not when the harm was loud.
Not when the silence was louder.
Not when I was just a child trying to hold my breath long enough to be safe.
But I survived anyway.
I stitched together my days with thread made of courage and thin hope.
I smiled so no one would ask questions.
I excelled. I blended. I waited.
I became so good at surviving, people mistook it for peace.
But deep down, I knew:
My story deserved more than just endurance.
It deserved honor.
It deserved voice.
It deserved healing.
And now I give myself what others couldnât:
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Safety that doesnât depend on silence.
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Love that isnât built on conditions.
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Rest that isnât earned through pain.
To every Survivor who kept going without applauseâ
To every child who turned into their own protectorâ
To every woman who now sees with sacred clarity:
âI may not have been seen then,
But I see myself now.
And that will always be enough.â
I walk with the dignity of someone who knows what she survived.
I donât have to prove it.
I donât have to relive it.
I donât have to explain it.
I am here.
And that is the evidence.