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Poem

The Reintroduction

At 45, I paused 
Not in grief, not in flames,
But in a soft, wide eyed wonder 
When did I stop checking in with myself?

Somewhere between
the morning alarms
and late night lists,
I became a master of doing,
a saint of showing up
for everyone
but me.

I gave, and poured,
and shaped myself
to fit the contours
of every room
but my own.

Now, I’m standing still
in the quiet after the storm,
realizing I don’t even know
my favorite color,
my go to comfort food,
the drink I’d savor alone,
the movie that moves me
because I stopped asking.

I deferred, adapted,
smiled and nodded,
let the current pull me
where it pleased.
And now, here I am
not broken,
just unfamiliar.

So I begin again.
Not to chase the old me
or dress up in “shoulds.”
But to sit with the silence
and listen for the whisper
of who I am now.

Maybe I’ll try a new dish
just to see if I like it.
Buy a shirt in a color
I don’t recognize.
Pick a movie
with no consensus but my own.

This isn’t a crisis
it’s a calling.
A gentle turning inward.
A reunion
with the one I left waiting.

And she
quiet, patient, resilient
is still here.
Ready to be known.

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