Unaltered Voices

Why must my scars be the proof of my resilience? Why must I bleed just to be seen as unbreakable? I am tired of strength being measured in bruises, in silence, in how much hell I can endure without collapsing. Strength is not swallowing pain until it drowns me. Strength is spitting it out, naming it, and refusing to carry what was never mine. You call me strong because I “survived you.” But survival is not the badge you think it is. It is evidence of war, a war I never signed up for. My strength is not in patching wounds you created. It is in refusing to let you cut me again. Strength is not carrying dysfunction on my back like a twisted inheritance. It is breaking generational chains so my daughter will never confuse pain with love, and my son will never call control protection. Strength is not forgiveness without accountability. It is boundaries without apology. It is walking away without looking back. You thought I stayed because I was tenacious. No, I stayed because I wa...