What Freedom Looks Like on Me

Sep 20, 2025

3 min read

Updated: Oct 5

I was raised to be afraid so I could survive.

In a small country where silence was often safer than speaking, I learned early that having a voice could make me vulnerable.

I went to an all-girls catholic school. Every day, I got a front-row seat on hypocrisy. I’d pass by teachers’ lounge and occasionally hear them make quiet comment to each other, like, “she’s pretty. She will get a job anywhere, in any industry.” Then the same teacher will stand in front of the class and say with authority, “being first in class is the only way to make it in life.”

Every time, I’d get this urge to say, “not unless you’re pretty.”

But, best to keep that in.

So, I ignored my inner compass and trusted what others told me was good for me.

That way of living kept me in line. It kept me safe.

But it didn't keep me free.

It took me years to understand the difference.

The Little Girl I Carry

Looking back, I have respect for the lessons my childhood taught me.

Like becoming minuscule whenever there was tension in the house.

That helped me survive.

The culture I grew up in was shaped by men. I was expected to follow their path, not mine. The messages were confusing:

-Obey to earn love, but speak up and risk abandonment.

-Be independent, but never stand out.

As a child, I didn’t have the language to make sense of these contradictions. I only knew that something inside me was always bracing for impact.

Today, as a grown woman, I meet those old lessons of fear, selflessness, pain, and doubt, with awareness rather than submission.

I recognize them when they arrive.

And when they do, I show up for the little girl inside me, the one who had no one to tend to her tender heart.

I soothe her now.

I am the nurturer she needed.

I am the presence she was waiting for.

I no longer look for someone above me to tell me who I am.

I am savoring the love that now lives within me. A deep, steady current that rises from moving beyond survival mode.

I’ve made peace with the many versions of myself, weaving them into something whole. Writing has been my compass, helping me discover clarity, healing, and the courage to rise.

And now, as I step into this new chapter, I share this journey with you.

The Woman I Became in Melbourne

Today, I’m in Australia. I came to see a childhood friend who received a scholarship to complete his master’s there.

At 25, this is my first international trip. My first solo trip.

It feels… daring.

We’re heading to Grampians National Park, where I plan to stand on a mountain ridge and feel the wind push against me.

So, I take my time to get dress.

Put my makeup on.

Choose the right accessories.

And yes, I know I’m going to hike up a mountain, but that’s not the point.

Time is on my side now.

I am who I want to be here.

There are only two things I want from this day: to listen and smile.

My bouncing, luscious curls now dance freely whenever the wind shifts. They seemed to have discovered their own language. They bounced, expanded, and refused to behave.

I move through the trail dazzlingly, unrestrained. My hair performs its unrehearsed Gone with the Wind show.

Then I hear a woman shout from a distance:

“I love your hair!”

Oh!

I smiled even wider.

My rich, forever sun-kissed skin receives every sensation of joy, every vibration of laughter. I carry scars from careless childhood adventures, but I wear my melanin with pride because it carries my grit and my might.

We’re often taught to think of the body as a record of what happened to us. I see mine differently.

My body keeps the sum of victories.

My petite frame, once overshadowed in rooms filled with perceived power, now radiates presence.

I style it with intention.

I claim it as my own.

My smile became a way of finding beauty. And, admittedly, this smile has also gotten me free drinks, tickets, and club entries along the way.

There are still mountains of fear, self-doubt, and other people’s expectation to climb. But from a small, scared child to a restless adolescent, I’m loving the woman I am today.

Each lesson, each scare, each mirror gaze has led me here.