My Place to Run To
I grew up under the long shadow
of "approval needed",
that silent rule no one wrote down
But everyone seemed to know.
So I learned to chase gold stars
like they were oxygen,
learned to read a room
before I ever learned to read myself.
But there were bright spots.
Teachers who looked at me
and saw something worth naming.
They sometimes called me "smart."
And for a moment, the clouds thinned.
Preachers, now and then,
said something that made me feel
like I wasn’t invisible.
Later, colleagues nodded at my work
as if it mattered,
And for a while, that was enough.
Then life shifted, as it always does.
My workplaces changed, faces changed,
and approval became a scarcer commodity.
Some days I was running on empty,
waiting for someone to say
“You’re doing fine.”
But hearing only silence.
So I made myself a place to run to.
In my mind, I go back
to those teachers who believed in me,
Before I knew how to believe in myself.
I run back to the sermons
that sometimes earned applause
and reminded me I had a voice.
I flee to my music, my old-school tunes,
my guitar vibrating against my chest,
The songs rising up like childhood friends,
I can see church people grinning, singing along,
joining in something bigger than doubts,
Hope and faith put to song.
Those are my places I run to.
These are my reminders that I’ve been seen,
I've been heard, and I am valued.
It's my reassurance that I’ve built a life
with moments worth returning to.
From my getaway place, I come away stronger,
ready to move forward,
without waiting for permission
to be proud of who I am.
