I'm just figuring this shit out on my own—
like nobody left instructions,
just expectations.
No blueprint, no map,
just instincts and broken directions
passed down like silence.
And I wish—
I really wish—
people would stop judging me
for my shortcomings
like I was handed the same tools
they were taught to use.
Yes, I fell.
Hard.
More than once.
But damn—
can somebody show me
how to stand back up
without acting like I should already know?
So again I ask—how can I be what I've never seen?
I never got a chance
To see someone who looks like me succeed—
only survive.
Lights flickering
Like they deciding if we deserve to stay on
Dreams postponed.
Smiles stretched thin
over exhaustion.
And surviving...
surviving is not living.
It's just
not dying.
Don't look at me
Like you don't know what I'm talking about—
Some of y'all learned survival before you learned joy too.
Everybody expects something from me.
Wants me to be better than the next,
stronger than what I already am—
like strength isn't something
I've been bleeding for
my whole life.
Like I haven't already been
carrying weight
that don't even belong to me.
So tell me—
How can I be
what I've never seen?
How can I reach
for a version of myself
nobody ever modeled?
How can I learn to live
when survival
is the only language
I've ever spoken?
I'm a product of my environment—
yeah.
But I refuse
to be its final draft.
I am revision.
I am trial and error.
I am what happens
when survival
decides to become something more.
I am breaking cycles
with hands that were never taught
how to build.
And maybe that's the real story—
Not that I didn't see it...
but that I'm choosing
to become it anyway.
Because I'm human.
Mistakes are a given—
not a life sentence.
I know I can do it...
I do.
But some days
confidence feels like a question mark.
Where's my village?
Where are my people?
Or was I only surrounded—
never supported?
Who holds me
when I'm tired of being
the strong one?
Because I can't—
I can't be strong
all of the time.
I'm trying to break a cycle
that was spinning
generations
before I was even a thought—
before my name
was ever spoken into existence.
And still—
I'm here.
Trying.
Trying to be the best woman
I can be
with lessons I had to teach myself.
I know I've disappointed many.
I know I can do better.
But growth—
growth is not a straight line.
It's messy.
It's heavy.
It's showing up
even when you feel like you're failing.
I'm just trying to make a change
that I've never seen—
trying to build a life
that feels like living,
not just surviving.
I don't want to be broken.
I don't want to keep struggling
like it's the only story
I'm allowed to tell.
I want softness.
I want healing.
I want to recognize myself
in something beautiful.
So maybe the question isn't
"How can I be what I didn't see?"
Or
How was I supposed to know what nobody showed me?
Maybe it's —
What if I'm the first?
What if I'm the example?
What if everything I needed
is something
I'm becoming
in real time?
Maybe I'm not lost—
maybe I'm the first example.
