The Weight of What I Built

I thought about the work I’ve carried on my own shoulders for sixteen years

the consistency,

the devotion,

the way I stayed steady through every fog the world tried to throw at me.

When I look at it honestly,

it’s nothing short of amazing.

And yet here I am,

facing this hollow, unsettled feeling of uncertainty.

To have my work the very thing I nurtured, protected, and upheld with diligence

brought to an abrupt halt without explanation

feels like a travesty in every sense of the world.

It’s more than a disruption.

It’s more than inconvenience.

It is a distortion of what is fair,

an insult to the years of honest labor I poured into my craft.

My livelihood, my rhythm, my source of daily bread 

held under someone else’s leg

as if the truth of my work doesn’t matter.

That…

that is the part that eats at me.

But even through this travesty,

I feel something quiet rising inside me —

the same strength that carried me through past storms,

the same fire that kept me steady when the world turned foggy.

I have survived worse.

I will survive this.

And whatever is being withheld from me now

will return in a form that honors the woman I’ve become.

 

 

 

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