She sat with her depression and anxiety long enough for it to tell her that her real label was wounded warrior.

She was born a warrior for peace and love.

She was 8 years old, talking about the rescue sanctuary she would create.

She was 11 years old, screaming at that man to get off of her.

She was 13 years old, standing up against the crowd to defend the quiet girl.

She was 15 when she chose silence.

She said goodbye to her family and set out to save herself.

She hid in places that felt frighteningly familiar to the abuse she’d witnessed. And she stayed quiet when it was her turn.

But every once in a while, she would run to places that embodied her desires, that made her feel closer to her true self. That made her feel safe.

And she spent years stoning herself into a state of peace and denial.

Despite her efforts, the dam she’d built, to keep it all locked away, broke.

Her heart started racing. She got too hot for her clothes. She begged for help. Over and over and over again.

She hid from everything that had given her that feeling.

But eventually, she couldn’t hide anymore. She learned the hard way that what she was running from was stuck inside of her. It was still happening.

She felt alone and misunderstood. She was miserable.

Having dreamt of creating peace long before she knew what the lack was, she felt defeated.

There have been many days that she didn’t want to fight through anymore. No one saw the demons; they didn’t hear what they told her.

She was hurting, labeled, and lost.

Her identity crisis was on full blast. None of this was who she was. None of this was what she imagined. Yet it was there, anyway.

She researched. She dug. She felt. And she started fighting again. She fought for herself. She fought for who she knew she was and what she deserved.

In doing so, she learned that she was not her anxiety. She was not the depression she felt. She was not anything that happened to her.

She was a wounded warrior.

She decided that she wouldn’t let herself be labeled and seen as nothing more than her wounds, anymore. Especially toward her own reflection. She is much more than that.

She won’t step off of this journey. She’ll keep learning and unlearning. She’ll give herself grace and hold her own space. She’ll keep healing.

She’ll keep picking up her pieces and filling her cracks with glitter glue, because that little girl still deserves to grow into the woman who feels safe within herself wherever she goes. She still deserves peace and the world still needs her love.

So it is, and so it shall be.

In her own time, the wounded warrior will rise.

~