By: Manal Rabiey
The tragedy of a woman is not in giving, but in giving in the wrong place—opening her heart to barren soil that cannot bloom, igniting her light in blind eyes that cannot see. There, her radiance turns into a fading echo, and she begins to think she is incomplete, while in truth, she was always greater than the space that confined her.
The deeper truth is this: your worth is not measured by applause, nor by the scales of a narrow arena. It is a constant essence dwelling within you. When you know your true place, you realize that your worth is not granted—it is born with you, walking beside you wherever you go.
Do not run after those who cannot understand the language of your light; be your own measure, be your own recognition. For when you place yourself in the garden that suits you, your very presence becomes a celebration.
Daughter of light, you are not required to prove you are enough, for you are the origin of sufficiency. Your existence itself is a testimony that needs no signature. Return to your certainty, and you will discover that the whole world had been waiting for your bloom.
