Resurrecting Her: A Letter to the Woman I Silenced

 

“To all who mourn… He will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair. In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks that the Lord has planted for His own glory.”
—Isaiah 61:3 (NLT)

To the Woman I Buried to Survive,

I owe you an apology—one without decoration, without defense. Just truth.

I buried you.
Not gently. Not slowly. Not accidentally.
I buried you beneath motherhood, marriage, and the myth that losing myself was the price of love.

I traded your laughter for logistics.
Your softness for structure.
Your wildness for worthiness.

I told myself it was maturity.
I told myself it was growth.
But now I see it was self-erasure dressed up as devotion.

You—my spark, my freedom, my fun—were sacrificed at the altar of being “the reliable one.”
I stopped dancing because it didn’t fit the schedule.
I stopped dreaming because it didn’t feed anyone else.
I stopped being because everyone else needed me to do.

And I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for choosing duty over joy.
For choosing silence over self-expression.
For abandoning you so I could be accepted in roles that were never meant to replace my identity.

I thought I was protecting us.
I thought love meant disappearing into everyone else.
But I know better now.

So here is my vow:
I will not confuse self-sacrifice with self-worth again.
I will not let motherhood or marriage become a mask.
I will bring you back. Not just for weekends. Not just in whispers.
Every. Single. Day.

We will rebuild—not from scratch, but from the ashes.
You’re not gone. You were waiting. And I’m ready.

With reverence, with rage, with redemption,
Me. Finally.