I spent an hour staring at a blank page today, paralyzed by the gap between what I wanted to say and what I thought people needed to hear.

Then I remembered: the work isn't to close that gap. The work is to honor it.

To write from the crack where my truth doesn't quite fit their expectations. Where my voice stumbles before it soars.

That's where the liberation lives. In the messy, unpolished in-between.