Space for Her

I hold space for her—the younger versions of me.

The one who carried pain like a second skin.

I hold space for the nights love never came.

For the times attention came sharp, without consent

and left her hollow and harmed

I hold space for the hope she clung to—

thinking her love would yield integrity

thinking her giving would be enough.

It wasn’t her failure. It was theirs.

I hold space for the voices raised against her,

words hurled like knives, intended to wound

her body shutting down and shrinking to survive.

I hold space for the times she stayed too long,

trying to save what was never hers to save,

bleeding herself to heal another’s wounds.

I hold space for the silence,

the lateness, the empty chairs, the absence.

How irrelevant and unworthy she felt.

I hold space for her confusion, wondering every time how she got there.

She didn’t know boundaries from rules.

Didn’t know that rules cage others,

but boundaries free yourself and protect your peace

Needs dictate standards

Standards guide boundaries

We are the only ones who can violate our boundaries.

This is the hardest to face, the hardest to grow through.

The hardest to let go of.

But she had to

The past could not hold us and heal us both.

Because we could not rise radiant and remain bound.

I honor her and give thanks.

For surviving.

For learning to listen to the whispers of her body,

for choosing, finally, to walk away.

Even when it felt impossible

I honor her.
Because she healed and she learned:

She was always enough
She was always worthy

She was always whole

And now—

We are unbound
We are the fire and the altar

We are divine.