Shedding Season

I’m shedding the skin
of the woman I wore—
stitched from silence,
pressed to perform,
tight at the seams
with smiles that weren’t mine.

She was glass—
clear, polished,
always about to shatter.
Now I am clay,
soft in some places,
hardened by fire
but shaped to hold water.

I’m letting go
of chore charts disguised as love,
of parenting tips
and filtered clips
that preach a gospel
I can’t live.

I’m not a blueprint.
I’m not a brand.
I’m the tremble in her tiny hand
when she’s reaching for comfort—
and I’m learning
that’s enough.

I’m letting go
of mirrors that mock me.
Lines around my eyes
aren’t lies—
they’re time's soft tattoo,
etched proof
I made it through.

I miss the girl
who liked being called young,
but I honor the woman
who stretched skin and soul
to bring life from her lungs.

I’m letting go
of old math—
where I gave more
to men who gave less,
and called it love
when it was just
another test I thought I had to pass.

I’m learning
that goodness given freely
isn’t weakness—
it’s grace.
That selflessness
isn’t measured in how much I erase.

I’m walking out
of stained-glass expectations,
leaving behind
the pews that bruised,
the rules that used
God’s name
to shame.

Now, I pray
not to be perfect—
but to be present.
Not to perform—
but to pour
from the well He filled
when no one else could.

And maybe—
letting go
isn’t a loss
but a loosening.
Not falling apart,
just finally
becoming.

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Author’s Note:

This poem was inspired by Day Two of the Ink & Intention journaling challenge created by Josefina F. (@loveoffering). She shares daily prompts on Substack and on her socials—follow her if you're a writer or creative looking for soulful reflection.

I’m all caught up now, and this one took all day to shape, but I’m proud of how it came together. If it moved you, I’d love to hear from you in the comments.

Follow me here for more poetry and reflections—and if you’d like to support a stay-at-home mama writer chasing purpose through words, tips are always appreciated.