Shedding Season

I’m shedding the skin of the woman I wore— stitched from silence, pressed to perform, tight at the seams with smiles that weren’t mine. She was glass— clear, polished, always about to shatter. Now I am clay, soft in some places, hardened by fire but shaped to hold water. I’m letting go of chore charts disguised as love, of parenting tips and filtered clips that preach a gospel I can’t live. I’m not a blueprint. I’m not a brand. I’m the tremble in her tiny hand when she’s reaching for comfort— and I’m learning that’s enough. I’m letting go of mirrors that mock me. Lines around my eyes aren’t lies— they’re time's soft tattoo, etched proof I made it through. I miss the girl who liked being called young, but I honor the woman who stretched skin and soul to bring life from her lungs. I’m letting go of old math— where I gave more to men who gave less, and called it love when it was just another test I thought I had to pass. I’m learning that goodness given freely isn’t weakness— it’s grace. That selflessness isn’t measured in how much I erase. I’m walking out of stained-glass expectations, leaving behind the pews that bruised, the rules that used God’s name to shame. Now, I pray not to be perfect— but to be present. Not to perform— but to pour from the well He filled when no one else could. And maybe— letting go isn’t a loss but a loosening. Not falling apart, just finally becoming.

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Author’s Note:

This poem was inspired by Day Two of the Ink & Intention journaling challenge created by Josefina F. (@loveoffering). She shares daily prompts on Substack and on her socials—follow her if you're a writer or creative looking for soulful reflection. I’m all caught up now, and this one took all day to shape, but I’m proud of how it came together. If it moved you, I’d love to hear from you in the comments. Follow me here for more poetry and reflections—and if you’d like to support a stay-at-home mama writer chasing purpose through words, tips are always appreciated.