They say the only good thing they got from their ex-husbands
Was their children—
A gift, they say, that made their lives worth the pain.
And I wonder—
Is that enough?
Or just the echo of what survives after the storm?
I was broken—
Pieces scattered in ways I couldn’t see,
Fighting to breathe through walls that wanted me silent,
Threats that wanted me small,
All because I visited my roots—
My grandparents, my sanctuary.
He told me I didn’t need to call my mother—
Even as cancer consumed her—
He tried to hold my words, my steps, my life—
A prison of silence, a cage of fear.
And now, at thirty-seven—
No children in my arms,
No story I thought I’d tell—
I wonder if there’s honor in persevering,
In surviving the way they had to,
In making peace with what’s been lost, and
what’s yet to come.
I don’t know if I chose this path—
Or if it chose me—
But I do know that I am here—
Still standing, still fighting,
Still trying to understand what victory truly is.
Because maybe,
It’s not about what I’ve gained—
But about the quiet strength it takes
To keep waking up,
To keep moving forward,
To be enough,
Even when the story isn’t mine to write.
And in that—
There’s something sacred,
Something true.
Thank you for sharing your story! The line “I wonder if there’s honor in persevering” stood out to me in particular. In different ways, I think we all have to wonder that for ourselves. And once we’re in that position, there’s nothing else to conclude other than–well, there has to be honor in perseverance. Sometimes, that’s all we have left over. In my experience, that perseverance turns into an unshakable belief in ourselves–our ability to get through anything as well as our ability to care for ourselves. Thank you for that reminder. 🙂
This story is so so powerful. As a daughter of divorced parents, I have watching my mother struggle with thoughts like this my entire life, so I felt your words more than you know. The line “He tried to hold my words, my steps, my life” really hit hard. I think this is such a beautiful reflection of the turmoil that can consumer our minds in relationships. Absolutely beautiful writing!
Your poem brings me through fear to strength and optimism. Beautifully done! So many books are written in poetic form now. This strikes me as a piece in the middle of a book like that. One that has a powerful ending.
Yes! That was my impression, as well. I’m thinking the style felt like Ellen Hopkins.
Thank you for sharing your story! The line, “But about the quiet strength it takes,” stood out to me. This line met me on a very personal level. In my personal life, I have discovered that quiet strength is just that, “quiet strength.” Sometimes we carry things that we can’t explain or discuss, because the pain is so deep and personal. Your strength and determination to fight show you have “GRIT” and the drive to thrive. Keep fighting and never give up!
Thank you for being vulnerable to share this piece. The line “In making peace with what’s been lost, and what’s yet to come” touched me deeply. Your poem is powerful!
This piece is breathtaking — the way you write so honestly about loss, control, and reclaiming your voice is both heartbreaking and empowering. Just remember you are enough!
This brought me to tears, Andrea. The zoom out an then the intense zoom in really makes this piece universally applicable even though we know and feel this is such a personal and intimate piece. Sacred indeed.
The journey you take us on through time and space reminds me of the book Echoes of Grace by Guadalupe García McCall (if you haven’t read it: I definitely recommend it).
Among so many striking lines in a poem that stands out on this blog for its forceful expression, this is one in particular: “Fighting to breathe through walls that wanted me silent,” This is what poetry can do, making the notion of breathing through walls possible.