Rediscovering Her
For the Woman at 40
When she was young, she danced in the light, full of dreams spun in colors bright. Hope hummed like a song in her veins, and laughter broke as a gentle rain.
But as years wrapped their weight around, the brightness sank, her laughter drowned. Memories blurred, energy dimmed, and life’s harsh edge grew ever-trimmed.
She wondered—was this a price to pay for being flawed in some nameless way? Had she been so wrong, so undeserving that love itself turned cold and unnerving? Must she serve with unthanked hands, forever unseen, across unseen sands?
Yet, 40 is a fine number, strong, a quiet anthem, an older song. In that number, she found grace, a wisdom no one could replace. For what she lost, she gained anew and suffering taught her what strength could do.
The harder they pushed, the stronger she grew, each wound a seed that bloomed and knew that doubts, like shadows, fade with dawn, for strength is born when all seems gone.
She has her days of distrust, it’s true, twenty years left scars that grew— yet, somewhere beneath, that little girl hides, with dreams and hope that refuse to die.
She whispers, “One day, I’ll dance once more, I’ll shake off shadows, lift from the floor.” For she is both warrior and child within, and she fights, in silence, to rise again.
