She Rose Anyway: A Self-Reckoning

Introduction to Self-Reflection

I don’t always recognize the woman staring back at me.
There are so many layers now—so many scars.
Have they distorted her?
Or have they carved her into something truer?

Some say she’s too quiet.
Some say she’s too much.
I say—she’s just tired.
Tired of shrinking.
Tired of surviving.
Tired of wasting breath on what doesn’t grow her.

She is not bitter.
She is becoming.

Childhood and Lost Dreams

Where did that island girl go?
The barefoot one with wild curls and louder laughter.
She ran toward the world with open arms—
until the world shattered her dreams at fourteen.

Did she die too?
Or is she still somewhere inside,
humming lullabies to the woman I’ve become?

The Angry Teenager

And what of the angry one?
The girl who burned too hot to hold.
She was reckless, yes.
But she was also grieving.
Lonely in a room full of people.
Searching for something that didn’t hurt.

I don’t miss her.
But I honor her.
She taught me how to scream before I learned how to speak.

Young Motherhood

Then came the mother.
Twenty years old, belly full of fear and hope.
She carried the shame of the girl before her—
but she also carried life.

She learned to give.
To fight.
To rise before dawn and still dream at night.
She grew up fast.
But she never stopped growing.

The Wife and Pretender

Then she became the wife.
The master of illusion.
She wore smiles like armor.
She called her pain “loyalty.”
She called her silence “love.”

But her children saw through it.
Her son’s rage.
Her daughter’s shrinking.
Mirrors she could no longer ignore.

That was the breaking.
That was the beginning.

The Divorcee and Warrior

Then she became the divorcee.
The warrior.
The woman who no longer begged to be chosen.
She chose herself.

She grew new wings.
Not soft ones.
Wings made of ash and iron and memory.
She learned to fly with fire in her chest.

Current Self and Reflection

So who is she now?

She is a mosaic.
A myth.
A woman stitched together by every version of herself.
She is still learning.
Still softening.
Still rising.

And in the mirror,
Elowen stands behind her—
not as a ghost,
but as a guide.

A Hopeful Future

She sees the horizon now.
Not as a threat,
but as a promise.

She is not defined by what broke her.
She is crowned by what she rebuilt.

She is not afraid of the unknown.
She is the unknown—
wild, sacred, and unrepeatable.

She is ready to soar.

“She rose not from ashes—but from memory, moss, and myth.”
—Elowen

This work is protected—not to guard the rise, but to honor the storm, the softness, and the self who dared to stand tall.
© 2025 Notesformysoulmate. All rights reserved.

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