You were born whole.
Before the edits. Before the apologies. Before the shrinking.
You laughed without checking the volume. You asked questions without shame. You moved through the world as if it belonged to you—because it did.
Then came the inheritance.
Not of wealth or wisdom, but of silence. Of scripts written by others. Of voices that sounded like love but felt like control.
They taught you to be good. To be quiet. To be grateful. To be less.
And you believed them. Because survival often masquerades as obedience.
But somewhere inside, a flicker remained. A whisper that said: This isn't mine.
This book is for that whisper.
It's for the moment you stop translating your truth into palatable fragments. For the day you choose alignment over approval. For the quiet rebellion of reclaiming your voice—not to be heard, but to stop disappearing.
You were never too much.
You were never not enough.
You were simply never theirs to shape.
And now, you begin again.
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