So this is womanhood, I think—
not in the quiet ache of solitude,
but in the steady hands of the women who hold me.
I am not here by accident.
I am here because my mother prayed,
because my grandmother endured,
because my aunt loved me like her own,
because my sister stitched me back together
when the world tried to pull me apart.
I am here because of the women
who walk beside me in boardrooms and late-night calls,
who open doors and whisper my name in rooms
I have yet to enter.
The mentors, the sponsors, the ones who say,
"Go on, girl, I’ve got you."
I am here because of my friends,
who know when to pour the wine,
when to pour the truth,
when to pour the kind of love
that makes even the hardest days feel soft.
I am here because of the women
who show up for me daily—
in text messages, in knowing glances,
in laughter that echoes louder than doubt.
Women who remind me that I am never alone,
that womanhood is not just survival,
but a shared becoming.
They are my foundation, my safety net,
my proof that love, when given freely,
can hold even the heaviest of burdens.
So this is womanhood, I think—
not a solitary climb,
but a hand reaching back,
lifting, carrying, guiding.
And when I look in the mirror,
when I stand firm in who I am,
I see them.
And I remind myself,
"I walk forward, never alone."