I’d seen too many women give up pieces of themselves, becoming shadows in someone else’s story.

The sunrise painted my living room in shades of hope, wanting to be filled up again with certainty, with purpose. But clarity remained elusive, like trying to catch the morning dew in my hands. The case files on my table seemed to mock me - clear-cut legal arguments juxtaposed against the mess of my cluttered garage of a mind.

Standing at my living room window now, watching the city wake up while my coffee grew cold, I wondered if anyone else felt this weight - this constant battle between wanting more and fearing the cost of reaching for it. The women before me who forged the path ahead - did they too lie awake at night, questioning that very path?