A Letter to the Woman You’re Becoming
🌾
You don’t know this yet, but one morning you’ll wake before the sun,
pull on your clothes in the quiet
and feel something different settle over your shoulders —
lighter than fear, heavier than habit.
A kind of knowing.
The body remembering itself.
It will happen in the middle of an ordinary day —
maybe on a trail, maybe in your own backyard —
when you step out into the open and realize
you aren’t waiting anymore.
Not for privacy,
not for permission,
not for the world to be kinder than it is.
The old hesitation — that small, sharp check of your surroundings —
will loosen its grip.
You won’t scan for cover.
You won’t hold your breath.
You’ll just stand there, unhurried,
as if the sky has been holding your place all along.
You’ll think,
So this is what it feels like to move without fear.
And the earth, who has always known your name,
will answer back with something like approval —
a wind that tucks your hair behind your ear,
a sunbeam that lands where your doubt used to live.
You’ll walk farther than you meant to.
You’ll laugh louder than you usually allow.
You’ll find yourself trusting the ground,
the trees,
your own two feet.
Nothing dramatic happens.
You don’t become someone new.
You just stop abandoning the person
you were always meant to be.
And it’s strange, how simple the shift becomes —
when the small worries that once ruled your days
lose their authority in the face of one unbreakable truth:
Your freedom was never supposed to be something
you negotiated with the landscape.
It was supposed to be something you wore,
like second skin.
Like birthright.
You will step into that truth one day —
quietly, without ceremony —
and feel the life ahead of you open
like a trail you suddenly recognize.
Not because it changed,
but because you did.
And from that day on,
wherever you go —
the mountains, the market,
the places where privacy is a luxury
and courage is a currency —
you’ll move with a kind of settled joy,
a kind of unrattled certainty,
that can only come from living in a body
you no longer have to negotiate with.
It won’t be a miracle.
Just a remembering.
And you’ll think,
Freedom looks good on me.
And you’ll be right.
