Becoming She

I have been many women.

Some of them, I don’t talk about anymore.

There was the girl who thought growing up meant somebody would eventually

come and explain the world to her.

Nobody did.

So she learned to watch.

To listen.

To make a home out of questions

nobody knew how to answer.

And somehow, she became

me.

I have been the woman who said,

“It’s fine,” because explaining the hurt would have taken longer than swallowing

it. The woman who made plans with a heart full of hope

and watched those plans grow old inside her head.

I’ve been the almost.

The not yet. The “maybe next time.” The woman who clapped for

everybody and went home wondering if life had misplaced her name.

And still,

I got dressed the next morning.

Still, I opened the curtains.

Still, I made room for another day.

Oh, all the women I’ve been,

all the lives I’ve lived within…

Some I held. Some I let go.

Some I loved but never got to know.

And if I meet them on the way,

I hope I have kind words to say.

I have been many women.

I’m still becoming the one who stays.

There was a version of me who thought being chosen would settle

something inside her.

She waited to be seen by people who could look directly at

her and somehow miss her completely.

She mistook being needed for being loved.

Mistook patience for proof that something was worth saving.

She gave people the softer parts of herself and called it understanding

when they handled them carelessly.

I wish I could sit beside her.

Not to tell her she was foolish.

Just to say, “Darling,

you were trying to make love work with the little you knew.”

And that is not the same thing as failing. (mmm) (ooh) (mmm)

I have been the woman who wanted to be held without having

to explain why her shoulders were heavy.

The woman who dreamed of a life that didn’t require so much

recovering. A small room of her own.

Work that meant something.

People who stayed because they wanted to.

Nothing extraordinary, really. Just a life that felt like it belonged to

her. And perhaps that is the thing nobody tells you about becoming:

Sometimes, you don’t become somebody new.

You simply stop abandoning the person you’ve been all along.

Oh, all the women I’ve been,

all the lives I’ve lived within… The girl who dreamed.

The one who broke.

The one who smiled when she nearly choked on all the things

she couldn’t say. They all brought me to this day.

I will not hate them for surviving.

I will not shame them for their trying.

I have been many women…

And every one of them was mine.

I used to think becoming

meant leaving the old me behind.

Now I think…

Maybe becoming is learning how