I have stopped mistaking exhaustion
for devotion.
There was a time
I thought tenacity meant
walking through every storm
with a composed face,
a gracious answer,
and a body too tired
to remember its own name.
I know better now.
A woman can be steadfast
without being spent.
A woman can be loyal
without becoming a servant
to everyone’s appetite.
A woman can possess fortitude
and still require silence,
clean sheets,
warm tea,
and a morning
that does not begin
with somebody else’s emergency.
Rest, too, is regal.
Rest is not indolence.
Rest is wisdom
wearing a softer garment.
It is the body saying,
I have carried enough.
It is the spirit saying,
I will not be despondent
over what was never worthy
of my sorrow.
It is the soul becoming scrupulous
about where its light is placed.
And let me be clear:
My softness has never been a lack
of strength.
I have known delay.
I have known omission.
I have known the genteel insult
dressed as concern.
I have known very confident people,
even though they brought very little
to the table.
Bless them.
Every court has its jesters.
But I am no longer vexed
by the obtuse.
I am no longer available
for the tedious labor
of translating my brilliance
to those committed
to mispronouncing it.
My value is not precarious.
It does not rise
because someone claps.
It does not fall
because someone with poor discernment
forgets to bow.
I am an auspicious woman
with an exacting spirit.
I know the sumptuous pleasure
of choosing myself
without spectacle.
I know the quiet opulence
of keeping a promise
to my own life.
I know loyalty now.
as an intimate practice:
to answer my own hunger
before feeding the room,
to honor my own fatigue
before performing strength,
to consult my own peace
before accepting the invitation,
to say no
without decorating it
with excessive explanation.
There is grace in that.
There is royalty in that.
There is a kind of sovereignty
that does not announce itself
because it is already understood.
I do not need to be ostentatious
to be undeniable.
I do not need to be brusque
to be firm.
I do not need to be implacable
to be clear.
I can laugh
and still mean every word.
I can rest
and still be formidable.
I can be tender
and still know
when the gate must close.
This is my reign now:
not loud,
not frantic,
not beholden
to the old arithmetic
of proving.
This is my delight:
a mind at ease,
a body in repose,
a spirit no longer famished
for permission.
This is my loyalty:
I return to myself
with reverence.
I return to the woman
who survived the arduous passage
and still kept her humor.
I return to the woman
who can bless the table,
leave the table,
or build her own
with better linen.
I return to the woman
who knows that value
is not a plea.
It is a posture.
It is a pulse.
It is the lucid certainty
of a soul
that has become fluent
in its own worth.
So yes,
I reign in delight.
Yes,
I rest with dignity.
Yes,
I carry my crown
with grace,
sass,
and impeccable timing.
And if the world
requires further evidence,
let it wait.
I am not rushing
to prove
what has already been written
in gold.
I am the sure thing.
Not because life was easy.
Because I remained.
Because I rested.
Because I rose.
Because I never again
confused loyalty to others
with betrayal of myself.–
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