Explicit Courage

Me in May: This is the woman who would save me.

December 11, 2025

I recently came across a copy of something I wrote back in May.

It included these lyrics:

“I woke up one day with stones in my mouth.

Those are only the lies you've told me.

Those are only the lies you've told me.”

They were part of a letter I mailed—

attached to something significant—

but the real significance was never the attachment.

It was the truth in those lyrics,

the memory they pointed to.

I remembered the scene so clearly:

the two of us listening to that song together,

the trusting and naïve version of me taking it in

without understanding the weight of the words…

or how truly full of stones his mouth already was.

But that’s not why I’m talking about this now.

I bring it up because holy shit—

my gladiator,

the one who took over when I was still in shock—

was a lyrically brutal badass.

She did not take what happened to me lightly. She didn’t flinch.

She didn’t cower.

She named the truth in ink and

mailed accountability straight to his doorstep.

When I think about that period now,

I don’t hurt.

I don’t cry.

I don’t yearn for what was.

I laugh.

Because even in the middle of heartbreak—

while I was grieving and in shock, my system torn open and on fire—

I still protected myself in a way that the younger, unhealed version of me never could have.

I did the thing I had never done before:

I chose me.

All the journaling I’ve done over the years about trusting myself… it paid off.

It became instinct.

It became armor.

It became that gladiator who rose inside me and said:

Not this time. Not this man. Not anymore.

And she was right.

I am proud of me.