After coming back from home, I felt light. I know I've finally found peace within myself ready for what tomorrow brings.
No more hunting from the curse of questions.
I deeply appreciate what I have, my new found family, people around me and my work of art.
I'm ready to rewrite whatever that has happened to me with the help around me.
Anna and I went to the community mini gathering, to start a fresh you have to take a step
The room did smell like new beginnings. It didn't pretend to not notice it.
It smelled of menthol, mild sweat, second chances, and fresh air like someone had just finished crying in one room, and someone else was laughing in the next.
It wasn't the kind of place that begged for attention. The chairs didn't match. The windows were cracked open, letting in just enough breeze to flutter the faded curtain. There was no stage. No performance. No pity posters on the wall. Just a simple phrase printed above the entrance:
"Healing Isn't Loud"
Purity walked in behind Anna, carrying nothing but her name and the war inside it.
She didn't expect to sit. She expected to panic, maybe fake a call or make a quiet escape halfway through. But she didn't. Instead, she followed Anna's lead and picked the second-to-last chair in the circle.
There were women of all shades and stories. Some looked like they hadn't cried in years but still wore sorrow like perfume. Others had visible cracks; they weren't trying to hide healing that wasn't hidden beneath makeup or manners.
No one turned to stare. No one whispered, "That's the new girl."
It was like walking into a space that already knew you were coming and had decided not to judge you for arriving late.
A soft-spoken woman with twist-outs and a burn scar on her arm shared first. She spoke about trying.
Trying to wake up without anger.
Trying to sleep without needing a reason to cry.
Trying to cook for herself without burning the stew.
Her voice didn't quiver. She wasn't auditioning for strength. She was just... there. Honest. Breathing.
Then a younger woman spoke. Her story was messier, more tangled, less "resolved." She talked about deleting her ex's number five times and still dreaming of him on the sixth night. About how sometimes she wanted to stop growing just to stop hurting.
Laughter rippled through the room soft, not mocking. It was the kind of laugh that meant you're not the only one.
Purity listened with her whole body. Her palms clenched. Her jaw tightened. But she listened.
And then a pause.
The kind that stretches wide enough for bravery to slip in.
Anna turned slightly, not pushing her to speak. Just inviting.
And for reasons she couldn't explain, Purity stood up.
She didn't rehearse. Didn't breathe deeply or prepare. Her legs carried her like they were tired of staying still.
She faced the women. Or maybe she just faced herself.
My name is Purity, she began, her voice not loud, but not small either. "I used to think healing would come with noise. With rage. With fire. But it's not like that. Sometimes, healing is just when you stop flinching when someone says your name."
Nobody clapped. Nobody needed to.
I didn't grow up soft, she continued.
Softness would've gotten me swallowed. I was raised in a house that taught survival, not safety. So I carried that into everything: my laughter, my love, my silence.
She paused, chest tightening not from fear, but from truth finally making its way out.
There was a time I thought I was ruined. Dirty. Like I was something that had already been chosen, used, and thrown away. But last week... I went back.
Now some women looked up.
I went back to where it happened. To the house, to the room... not for revenge. Not even for answers. Just to see it. And I sat there. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just sat.
One woman covered her mouth. Another wiped her eyes. Purity saw, but she didn't stop.
I left the shame there. It doesn't live in me anymore.
She looked down, then back up. Stronger now.
I don't run anymore. Not from them. Not from the mirror. Not even from mornings. I've stopped chasing people who only remember me when they need someone to blame.
She looked at Anna for a second, her silent anchor.
I'm not healed. But I'm healing. And maybe that's enough for today.
She sat back down.
Silence settled over the room like a warm blanket. Nobody rushed in to hug her. Nobody shouted affirmations. They just sat with her in the stillness she had earned.
After the meeting, Purity stood outside the center with Anna. The sky was dipping into soft orange, the kind that looked like it had forgiven the day.
Anna passed her a bottle of water. "You did good."
Purity gave a small smile. "I didn't plan to speak."
I know," Anna said, "but your spirit did, girl! Babe this is a prayer answer I want to see more of you like this, you got the fire to stop holding back.
They stood there a while, no need to fill the air with more words. Sometimes presence was enough.
A girl maybe sixteen, thin wrists, sleeves too long for the July heat walked past them slowly. She glanced at Purity, then turned back.
Hi, the girl said. Her voice was almost a whisper.
Hey, Purity responded, her tone soft.
The girl handed her a folded note and walked off without waiting for anything.
Purity opened it. Five words.
Shaky handwriting. Heartbreaking clarity.
"I think I'm ready too".
She didn't cry.
She just folded the paper, tucked it into her pocket, and smiled to herself.
Maybe the healing was loud. But not in noise.
In impact.
In this way one quiet voice could make another find theirs.
I don't know what this means but I think people that need me, to be part of their healing, to be the fire to revive them to remind them who they are.
The little girl gave me hope and strength and hungry to reach out more