She Didn’t Fix Me

Dear Delyara, I told her the ugly truth. Not the polished version. Not the brave version. Not the one that makes a woman sound wise in retrospect. The tired one. The ashamed one. The envious one. The one that still wants more and feels guilty for wanting it. She didn’t turn it into a lesson. Didn’t brighten it. Didn’t say “at least.” Didn’t tell me what kind of strong woman I really am underneath it all. She just stayed. That felt like such a relief I nearly cried afterward. Because shame gets smaller in the right kind of witness. And that is exactly what she gave me.