At 49, my people-pleasing days are behind me.

Gone are the years where I molded myself into a shape that was expected of me. Into a world I was told needed to approve of me. Into a skin I felt sewn into. Into a body I could never fully exhale in.

It can be a lonely path to walk when you decide to break away from the crowd. When you begin to honor the whispers within, even as the outside world tries to drown them out.

I have never been fearless.

If anything, the anxiety in my chest threatens to overwhelm me on many days. It stifles and suffocates and leaves me gasping for a breath I don’t quite know what to do with.

I have always been afraid.

And I have always been fueled with something deeper than fear. More than courage. More than conviction. More than the desire to be true to who I know I am.

I am filled with the spirit of the women who came before me.

When I need the fortitude to keep walking my path and aligning my actions with my true beliefs, I summon the strength of those women.

The women who spoke up when the world wanted them to remain quiet. The women who dared to do what they were told they couldn’t. The women who continued to rise up each time they were struck down. The women who held the hands of their sisters as they faced their fate together.

We may have been born into different eras, we may have journeyed on roads that were unfair or unequal, the divides between us may seem vast and titanic. But we are forever united by the irrefutable truth of our common bond: We are women.

The stories of the women who came before me rarely made the history books. Their names and faces are mostly unknown to me, yet somehow I carry their legacy.

They have shaped me. They have influenced me. They have inspired me beyond measure.

Deep within me are the flames of these fierce and gentle hearts. Their fight seems to find me when my own fire is dwindling, and I am emboldened by their everlasting spirit.

I feel their triumphs and their pain in a multitude of ways that I cannot always comprehend nor articulate. I do not fully know the battles they braved, but I recognize and respect that they did indeed brave them.

Because of them, I have a pathway. Because of me, I walk it.

Their past was an investment into my future. Their strength has become my tenacity. Their victories have become my opportunities. The existence of their generation has allowed for the emergence of mine.

The decades that separate us, the miles that distance us, the experiences that distinguish us, are no match for the force that unifies us.

We are women.

For the women who have been touched or torn with hands that have not meant kindness. For the women who have known captivity without crime. For the women who have endured indignities and insults:

I see you. I hear you.

I see the agony that you wear as a second skin. I hear your cries for justice, your screams for mercy. The echoes of your suffering seep into my soul, and I carry part of that weight with me. You do not bear your burdens alone.

For the women who have known the vast void of loss and grief. For the women who have known the full force of a world that will not accept their self-expression. For the women who have been oppressed and kept in the shadows:

I see you. I support you.

I see your hurt and hunger. I support your right to stand up and be counted. I champion your individuality and uniqueness. For every scar that is stamped into your being, a remnant makes its way to mine.

For the women who tread the trail that is yet unexplored. For the women who believe in a more beautiful existence and a deeper consciousness. For the women who forge forward with intention and integrity:

I see you. I celebrate you.

I see the bright burn in your eyes that illuminates the possibilities of an enlightened earth. I see the brilliance of a mind that has been educated outside of a classroom. I celebrate your desire to encourage and empower the others you meet along the way.

For the women who are aging in a world that wants to shun them into shame. For the women who are in changing bodies that sometimes feel like strangers. For the women whose lines and wrinkles are a map of all their memories merged.

I see you. I am you.

I see how you’ve been conditioned to turn away from your own reflection. I see the fear that forces you to reject who you’re yet becoming, even as you long to turn towards your own embrace. I see how you are clinging to what is still good. Still true. Still possible. I am, too.

For the women who came before me, I honor you. Each one of you. Your courage has crept into my bones, and when I feel like I might buckle into surrender, I sense you at my side. Your arms break my fall. Your love is my armor. Your wild fire is my resolve.

I stand with you in solidarity. In survival. In strength.

For the women who will come after me, please respect your history but do not be bound by it. Please take the torch but use it to light your own chosen path. Please give yourself permission to be liberated rather than feel obligated. Please know the lineage lives on, and make your mark with unwavering determination and pride.

🔸A note on the gendered language within this post.

I use the word Woman as I deeply and undeniably resonate with every piece and particle of what it means (to me) to be a woman. I use the word Woman as a point of pride and a bones-deep affirmation of who I know myself to be. The word Woman may hold a different meaning for you, or no meaning at all. I understand and respect we are not all having the same experience. And if you do too, you are very welcome here in this space, amongst these words.

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