It took years of being told no.
Years of being asked to shrink, to soften,
to become a version of me that could be palatable—
for them.

As a child,
they said—
“Sit straight, talk soft,
dress right, don’t laugh too loud.”
So I did.
Because they said it’s for my future,
for my husband,
for his family,
for the world.

“The most courageous act is still to think for yourself. Aloud.”
— Coco Chanel

They praised my grades,
but shaped my life for chores.
Wash the dishes, mop the floor, press his shirt—
not for love,
but to survive marriage.
Because God forbid I say no.
Because saying no meant
I wasn’t raised right.

While my brother sat free,
never once lifting a finger,
I was being trained—
not for independence,
but for approval.

I tried to copy him,
thinking maybe that’s what it takes to be liked.
But even that,
they hated.

“I’m not afraid of storms, for I’m learning how to sail my ship.”
— Louisa May Alcott

They told me to dream,
but when I did—
they said I was arrogant.
They taught me to obey,
to say yes with a smile,
even when it broke my spirit.

I was told to be like her—
that cousin, that neighbor, that quiet girl—
never told to be myself.
Because being me?
Was never enough.

Even my success—
a job, a future—
wasn’t mine to celebrate.
It was just a step closer to marriage.
And if I didn’t want it,
then I’d be forced

I began to wonder—
maybe this pain is my punishment
for being born a girl.

But years later, I finally understood—
they meant well.
They did.
But in doing so,
they buried me under expectations
that never belonged to me.

“They tried to bury us. They didn’t know we were seeds.”
— Mexican Proverb

It took distance.
It took silence.
It took me living alone
to start hearing myself again.

Thirty years of conditioning
took two years of watching every habit,
questioning every thought—
was this mine?
Or something they handed to me
like a curse disguised as care?

They softened me like clay,
molded me into what they thought was right,
and just when I became their masterpiece—
they shattered it.
Because now?
They want the real me.

The rules have changed now.
I no longer fit in the box they built for me.
Now, with labels like “too modern,”
or “just following trends,”
they’ve found new ways
to not accept me—
again.

You don’t see the bruises on my skin.
But you don’t need to.
Because I carry the thorns inside.

“I am mine. Before I am ever anyone else’s.”
— Nayyirah Waheed

And I—
I am learning to pull them out,
one by one.
Forgiving,
not for them,
but for me.

So I can breathe.
So I can be.

So I can bring back the light
that was shut off
over a thousand times.

-daisiesinmysoul