A Blessing For The Woman Who Survived

Estimated reading time: 3 minutes

This is a poem for the woman who survived hard things and a liturgy of self‑compassion for the woman finding her way back to herself.

For The Woman Who Survived

I bless the woman I once was,
the one who endured the storm far longer than she should, who prayed in silence, her tears unseen, who stayed even though the staying nearly shattered her, who fought to hold a life together while pieces of her were quietly falling apart.

I celebrate the woman brave enough to keep going,
even though she bore what no one should ever have to bear, she hid her bruises well, and by the grace of God, survived more than anyone ever should go through in this life.

I release the woman I had to be,
the one who hid her hurt behind a masked smile and bubbly disposition, who walked on eggshells between brightly painted walls, who made herself as small as she could to survive, who bore the weight of a shame that wasn’t hers to bear, who pushed people away when they got too close (to protect her secrets), and doubted her worth because someone she loved chose not to see it.

I grieve the woman who carried burdens that weren’t hers to hold,
who kept going, even when her spirit was crushed, who lived in fear behind closed doors and lonely walls, and contemplated, more times than she cares to admit, if life was worth living anymore.

I thank the woman who protected me from a life that wasn’t safe,
the one whose broken childhood bore the scrappiness that kept me safe on days I wasn’t sure I’d survive. She didn’t give up on herself or her faith, even when she prayed for change that didn’t come, even when life was heavy and dark, and she felt invisible underneath hidden secrets.

I bless the woman I am becoming,
the one who is learning to breathe again, to trust again, to live again, to share her hurt with the world in small ways that bring light to the darkness.

She is rediscovering joy free from guilt, peace untangled from fear, and a hope that rises like a fire rekindling from the ashes.

She is a woman walking with God, not for survival this time, but in a freedom that sometimes takes her breath away. And while she walks in faith, she stumbles constantly as she looks back to past versions of her that are no longer ghosts, but honored ancestors, and when she falls, there are people by her side to help pick her up again.

She is not what she went through.
She is not her trauma, her anxiety, her failures, or her pain.
She is worthy. She is loved.
She is not alone.
She is a survivor.
She is me.

This poem is a blessing for the girl I used to be. It’s a liturgy of compassion for the one who kept swimming when she didn’t know where the shore was. It’s a story about arrival, survival, and the quiet gratitude that comes when you finally understand what she carried you through. She pulled me out of the wreckage long before I had the strength to bring her home. Because of her, I’m still here, learning what it means to embrace life.

Take gentle care of yourself today. ツ