She broke free.
At first she didn't notice the water piling up around her.
It started out as small puddles that she didn't mind stepping through,
Turning into pools of water that she had to quickly swim through.
But when it flooded her spaces and it tore her mouth,
She was forced to break free,
For if she didn't,
She'd lose her breath.
When it happened,
She stood,
Soaked,
Wondering why she'd put up with the wet for so long.
She broke free.
From then on,
She wore her freedom like a badge of honor.
When the air around her lungs tightened,
She wildly inhaled,
And she broke free.
When the weighted jacket was placed around her shoulders,
She puffed her chest in indignation,
And she broke free.
She broke free of pleasing and accommodating.
She broke free of affirming and placating.
She broke free of expectations and peacekeeping.
She broke free of manipulating and gaslighting.
She broke free.
When others gawked at her confidence or power,
She broke free of staying small.
When the weight of others' happiness was thrust upon her,
She broke free of misplaced responsibility.
When bars were put up around her,
Masked as love and protection,
She broke free of doubting herself.
She broke free.
It wasn't without pain and struggle.
It wasn't without brokenness and grief.
It wasn't without loneliness and doubt.
Nevertheless,
She broke free.
You
