I have always been gifted—
not in the way that begs to be announced,
but in the way certain rivers know
Exactly where they are going
without asking the land for permission.
For a time, I misplaced my loves—
tucked them between responsibility and restraint,
filed them under later,
as if the soul were a document
that could wait its turn.
But gifts are not obedient.
They do not retire quietly.
They hum. They linger. They rearrange the air
until you remember.
And I have remembered.
I have returned to my creative loves
with a kind of elegance that does not apologize.
Not rushed, not frantic—
but deliberate, like a woman
who knows the difference
between urgency and timing.
Even beauty flows differently now.
It does not beg to be admired.
It does not audition for approval.
It arrives—fully formed—
through mind, body, soul, and spirit,
as if all parts of me finally agreed
to stop negotiating.
There is humor in this, too—
how I once tried to contain what was expansive,
to package brilliance into something palatable,
to make genius more… comfortable.
I laugh now. Softly. Precisely.
Because comfort has never been the assignment.
I am a gifted woman—
which is to say, I carry things
that cannot be taught, only honored.
Vision that does not need consensus.
Intuition that refuses to be cross-examined.
A knowing that does not wait to be verified.
And still, I am gentle with it.
I let my gifts breathe.
I let them arrive unforced,
like music that knows its own tempo.
Like language that writes itself
through a willing hand.
There is no performance here.
No reaching. No proving.
Just a quiet, unmistakable unfolding—
where what I create
and who I am
are no longer separate conversations.
This is what it means
to reclaim what was always mine.
To move with rhythm, not resistance.
To trust what flows,
even when it surprises me.
To be gifted—
and finally,
to live like it—
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Healing Majestically 