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My Becoming
Each morning, I light a candle
for the versions of me I’ve outgrown—
the one who feared her own voice,
softened to fit into quiet rooms.
The one who built walls brick by brick,
guarding herself from possibility,
believing stillness meant safety.
But today,
I raise a glass
to the girl I once was.
I thank her
as I begin to unstack those bricks,
each one etched with a lesson,
Thanking her as I loosen the soil
beneath my becoming.