There comes a moment when you stop and ask: whose life am I really living?
I talk about why women need to reclaim their lives because, somewhere along the way, we begin to disappear in plain sight. We are seen, but not truly seen. We become a convenience, always there, always available, our presence expected, our worth quietly dismissed. A thing to rely on, but not to cherish.
Worse still, we are made to feel undeserving of attention, of care, of desire, of being truly looked at, of being valued. We then start to believe it. It is insidious, the constant drip of everyday erasure we experience, especially as we grow older. We are expected to cede space, to shrink, to vanish quietly into the shadows. We internalise that invisibility until it becomes our second skin.
Reclaiming your life is the radical act of turning that gaze back on yourself. To say to oneself if no one else thinks me worthy of attention, I don't care. I am worthy to myself. To put yourself first, but not as selfishness, but as survival.
It is a book in your hand, an afternoon at the salon, a solo trip to a destination you always wanted to go to, a play you wanted to watch and will watch alone, a boundary held firm, a moment of solitude you refuse to apologise for. It is consistently choosing your own joy, even when no one else thinks it matters. When no one else puts you first.
Reclaim your worth. Reclaim your time. Reclaim your right to be seen, heard, and valued, starting with you. And that is enough.
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