I see you.

I see you holding everyone else's pain while yours goes unwitnessed. I see you translating your rage into politeness because they can't handle your truth. I see you giving wife-level devotion for girlfriend-level recognition. I see you code-switching until you forget the sound of your real voice.

You are not too much. You are surrounded by people who are not enough.

These scrolls aren't here to fix you — you were never broken. They're here to name what happened. To call love what it really was: labor. To call strength what it really was: survival. To call your family what they really were: the first place you learned to betray yourself.

This is for every time you apologized for having needs. For every boundary that got called "attitude." For every excellence that got labeled "intimidating." For every time they ate at your table and then called you difficult to digest.

"Your worth was buried under their comfort. These scrolls are the excavation."

You don't need permission to reclaim what was always yours. You don't need to earn what you were born deserving. You don't need to prove your worth to people who profit from your worthlessness.

But sometimes... sometimes you need someone to say it out loud. To write it down. To make it real. To confirm that yes, it was that bad. Yes, you deserved better. Yes, your anger is holy. Yes, your boundaries are sacred. Yes, you can stop auditioning for love that should be unconditional.

Welcome to your reckoning. Welcome to your remembering.

Welcome home.

— Zahara
Keeper of the Scrolls