Because of Them, I Choose Differently

They endured

so I could see it.

The shape of the weight.

The ways it was passed.

The way it lived

in the body like a second spine.

They didn’t have the choice

to lay it down.

Not always.

Not safely.

But I do.

And so

this is not a rejection.

This is a thank you.

Thank you

for staying.

For bending.

For finding a way.

Thank you

for the nights you didn’t cry

because someone else needed sleep.

For the dreams you folded away

so there would be room for ours.

Because of you,

I know what it costs.

Because of you,

I see the toll.

And because of that knowing

I choose differently.

I do not call that betrayal.

I call it becoming.

Because of you,

I have learned the language

of quiet strength.

And now

I speak another dialect.

The one where softness

does not require apology.

Where my body

belongs to no one but me.

Where rest

is not earned

but honored.

I do not forget you

as I change.

I carry you

as I walk another way.

This, too,

is a kind of offering.

A kind of love

you made possible.

The Quiet Kind of Strong is a series of seven on inheritance, endurance, and the women who came before. The other parts live in the Still June archive.