The Woman Beneath The Woman

A quieter woman is living beneath the one the world meets. A woman shaped by instinct, memory, and the unspoken truths held in the body. These words turn toward her, the self who learned to move carefully, who carried whole seasons of feeling with nowhere to place them, who continued in ways that can only be understood from within.

Here, she begins to gather herself without urgency. A soft revealing of the woman who has always been there beneath the versions built for survival. The one rising in her own rhythm, steady and unmistakably whole.

Transcript

Mmmmm There is a woman beneath the woman The one the world sees The one who learned to walk carefully The one who held whole seasons of herself Out of view Beneath her lies the quieter one The one who never forgot The language of the body The one who felt the shift in the room before any word rose to meet it The one who understood The cost of softness long before she could name it She is the keeper Of every small tightening in the chest Every quiet bracing beneath the ribs Every moment the breath Chose silence over release Not as a catalogue of wounds But as a map Of how she continued There are gestures you no longer notice The slight lifting of the shoulders The way the spine bends inward As if sheltering a story That has not yet found its sound These are not flaws These are traces of the woman who endured When endurance was the only way forward And somewhere beneath all of that Is the one rising now Not quickly Not in a blaze But in the slow way Earth lifts new shoots through winter soil A quiet unfurling A returning of what was scattered She does not hurry She does not demand She remembers,

She remembers everything The way light once fell across a younger face The way a heart once opened before it learned caution The way belonging once felt before the world asked her To earn it She is not returning To who she was before She was She is becoming who she has always been Beneath the versions she carried to survive Nothing in her asks for apology Nothing in her begs to be smaller She is shaped by the very things that tried to undo her And she carries them quietly The way the earth carries storms beneath its surface This is not a rise It is a remembering A settling into the woman whose breath no longer hides Whose spine no longer folds Whose presence enters a room Without asking permission To exist

Reviews

I am so grateful for the return of this deep and wise feminine. Her right to be here full and free, in reverence and honor.

Every verse, every line brings a memory to mind. All of it so truthful. I will revisit this frequently so I may stop and contemplate the memory of each. Thank you so much. 🙏💫🦋🦋

Thank you for gifting us with the beautiful words that describe how a lot of women are feeling right now 🙏🏽💕 “this is not a rise, but a remembering” 💕💕💕