Therapy Bits

In the small, trembling corners of my past,
where terror once learned my name,
I grew like a quiet seed beneath the frost,
aching for even a whisper of warmth.

There were nights when hope felt paper-thin,
fragile as a moth’s wing in the dark.
But something in me—small, steady, stubborn—
kept its faint light lit.

I learned to breathe beyond the brokenness,
to gather the scattered pieces of myself
and hold them gently, as one would a wounded bird
that only needs time to fly again.

Now, when the old shadows stir,
I meet them with the strength I’ve earned,
the kind forged slowly, honestly,
in the long work of healing.

I am more than what happened to me.
I am a dawn that refused to die in the night.
I am proof that even the quietest heart
can outgrow its deepest pain.

And every step I take is a rebellion—
a soft, powerful declaration
that I survived
and I am still becoming.

RDP SATURDAY: TERROR