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I don’t have a community in the traditional sense. There’s no physical space to which I belong where people gather on a regular basis to exchange pleasantries and check in on one another. However, I have a discreet online presence where I build a slow-growing digital connection through words, art, and vulnerability.

If I could improve any community, it would be the invisible one. Women who write in the darkness. The silent creatives. Mothers who are stretched thin. Those who carry shame in their bodies, fear in their voices, and tenderness that they rarely express.

I want to spread gentleness where the world has been harsh. 

I hope that my honest, imperfect, emotionally raw writing may help others feel less alone. They can breathe a bit better knowing that someone else understands how they feel. I aim to create a body of work that not only informs but also offers understanding. I want it to be a place where truth may exist unpolished.

My poetry, art, blog posts, essays, and even my online presence aren’t intended to impress. They are invitations to everyone to slow down, to feel, and to remember. 

I come from a culture that seldom discusses grief, shame, or women’s private lives. By sharing my truths, I hope to offer people the freedom to explore their own. I want to be a part of a peaceful movement promoting honesty. It’s a movement in which we say to each other, “You are not broken. You are just human.”

So, how can I improve my community? By showing up with words, with heart, and with everything I used to hide. I don’t set out to fix anyone, but to say:

I see you. I’m still here and I understand.