You Were Born Worthy
Stop waiting for someone to tell you
you’re enough.
Stop checking mirrors for approval
from people who don’t even like themselves.
You know what’s exhausting?
Spending your whole life auditioning for a role
you already have.
The job is yours.
You got it the day you were born.
Nobody can fire you from being yourself.
But here you are,
apologizing for taking up space,
dimming yourself down
so other people feel brighter,
asking permission to have opinions,
to want things,
to exist at full volume.
Fuck that.
You think the people who love you
need you to be smaller?
You think your kids need a mother
who apologizes for breathing?
The world doesn’t need another person
who’s afraid of their own shadow.
The world needs you at full power,
full volume,
full brightness.
Not because you’re special –
because you’re human.
And humans
don’t need to earn the right to exist.
You were born worthy.
Not of praise, not of perfection,
but of space.
Of breath.
Of being here exactly as you are
without apology.
So stop shrinking.
Stop asking.
Stop waiting.
The world is already a better place with you in it.
Not because you’re a lily among sunflowers
or any other garden center metaphor.
Because you’re real.
Because you’re here.
Because that’s enough.
It’s always been enough.
(2019 © Julia Delaney)
Be Alive 🌱
Love ❤️, Julia
Rhyme & Reason
![[section label="Regret, You Silent Sculptor"] [row style="small" v_align="equal" h_align="center"] [col span="7" span__sm="12" span__md="6" animate="blurIn"] Grooves Regret works in the dark. Chisel and mallet, carving valleys in my chest, grooves in my mind, hollows I didn't know were there until I fall into them. It shapes with "what if," with "if only," with the door I didn't walk through, the call that went to voicemail, the words that sat in my throat and stayed there. It keeps reworking my memories, pressing new grooves over old, until I can't tell anymore which version I lived and which one it made. The groove gets deeper. The chisel returns to the same line. I feel it wearing through and I hold still for it like I'm helping. But my hands are moving too. On different clay. Something regret hasn't touched yet. Two sculptors. Same room. One facing what was. One facing what's here. Neither puts down their tools. [gap height="10px"] [ux_text font_size="0.75" text_align="left"] (2018, © Julia Delaney) [/ux_text] [/col] [col span="5" span__sm="12" span__md="6"] [ux_image id="27223" image_hover="glow" depth="1" animate="blurIn"] [/col] [/row] [/section] The past is already carved. What matters is who's holding the chisel now... Be Alive 🌱 Love ❤️, Julia [section bg="24103" divider_top="waves-opacity" divider_top_flip="0" divider_top_to_front="0" divider="waves-opacity" divider_flip="0"] [ux_text text_align="center"] more from this hour: [/ux_text] [gap] [blog_posts style="default" type="row" col_spacing="xsmall" columns="3" columns__md="1" depth_hover="5" animate="blurIn" ids="27202,8949,27229" show_date="false" excerpt="false" comments="false" image_height="56.25%" image_hover="glow" image_hover_alt="zoom"] [/section] [block id= "poetry"] [block id="disclaimer"]](https://eadn-wc05-15915244.nxedge.io/wp-content/uploads/2026/01/poetry-about-life-711x400.jpg)
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