✨reclamation✨
“I don’t need ego death,” she said.
“…because my ego didn’t get the luxury of a slow unraveling.
It was ripped from me—
in the silence of grief,
in the confusion of touch that wasn’t safe,
in the betrayal of being unseen
by those who were supposed to protect me.”
This isn’t about her letting go of false self.
She never got to build one.
This is about her recovering the architecture
that was never allowed to rise.
The blueprint is still in her bones.
And her anger?
It’s not a weakness.
It’s a flare sent up from her original self,
saying:
“She’s still in here. Come get her.”
“I don’t need ego death,” she said.
“I need soul retrieval.
I need to gather the bones of the girl
who never got to finish being a child—
because grief came too early,
and the world didn’t soften to meet her.”
They talk about ego death
like it’s some sacred detachment—
but hers died
in a single conversation…
a knock at the door from a man wearing a badge.
In a closed casket.
In a room where no one asked if she was okay.
It wasn’t an awakening.
No enlightenment.
It was abandonment.
“So no—
I don’t need to ‘let go’
I need to remember who I am
before survival rewrote my name!
Before shame became my skin.
Before anger was buried alive
under the weight of ‘be nice’.”
She is not a woman in need of humbling.
She had her fair share of that.
She is a woman in need of rebuilding.
“I need blueprints made of bloodlines and truth.
I need sacred scaffolding—
anger for my hammer,
intuition for my compass,
and God, not as sky-father
but as breath inside my chest,” she said.
She doesn’t want transcendence.
She wants return.
To the garden,
to the grit,
to the girl who once knew
that her fire was holy
and her body was home.
“I don’t need ego death.
I need reclamation.”
And she will not come back empty.