You reached for perfect, for praise, for peace—but it never felt like enough.

You smiled when it hurt.

You hid what was real.

You copied to belong.

You learned not to feel.

So you shrank.

Then you paused.

Then you asked.

And that’s where I come in—not to fix you, but to walk beside the version of you that never stopped hoping.

The one that’s still here, still growing, still yours.