Where did she go?

Once, I was fire.

In high school, I was fearless — bold, untamed, full of rebellion not just for the sake of resistance, but because I knew myself. I knew what I stood for. What I wanted. What I deserved.

When life tried to knock me down, I pushed back — harder, louder, fiercer.

And now?

Now I flinch instead of fight.

I tolerate too much. I give too much. And the worst part? I let them take it.

People drain me.

And I hand them the bucket.

My boundaries are thin. My spark feels dim. And somewhere, between surviving and performing, loving and losing, showing up and staying silent — I’ve misplaced her.

The girl who never let anyone tell her who she was.

Where did she go?

Truth is, she’s not gone.

She’s buried under layers of expectations, exhaustion, people-pleasing, and pain.

She’s under there — waiting.

Not for someone else to rescue her.

But for me to.

So maybe it starts here:

Saying no when I mean it. Setting down what was never mine to carry. Doing one brave thing a day, even if it’s just breathing through the storm. Remembering what lit me up before life dulled me down.

Because she’s not lost.

She’s waiting for me to remember who I was — and choose to become her again.