The Way I Bloomed

I wasn’t planted in soft soil.
I grew in the cracks—
beneath weight I didn’t ask to carry,
through seasons I wasn’t ready for.

There were days I curled inward,
afraid of my own petals.
Nights I mistook stillness for failure,
and silence for shame.

But slowly, I learned:
growth isn’t always loud.
Sometimes it’s quiet—
a whisper of courage beneath the surface.
A single breath after the storm.
A soft no. A braver yes.

I began to stretch toward the light,
not because I knew what I was doing,
but because something inside me
refused to stay small.

And here I am now—
not perfect,
not finished,
but blooming anyway.

Because even when no one noticed,
even when I doubted,
even when I nearly gave up—
I was still growing.
Still becoming.
Still worthy.

“And still, like dust, I’ll rise.”

Maya Angelou

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