See, in my family, we learned early that softness could be dangerous — that tears didn’t fix bills, and vulnerability didn’t keep lights on. So we learned to swallow what we couldn’t say.We smiled through pain and called it strength. But the truth? The silence passed down isn’t sacred if it’s suffocating.

I spent my early womanhood in a tug-of-war with her. Weight I couldn’t explain, exhaustion I couldn’t fix, cycles that felt like betrayal. I thought I was doing everything right — eating “okay,” staying busy, keeping the smile, keeping the peace. But my body was keeping score the whole time. PCOS had been hiding behind every miscarriage, every surge of weight I couldn’t shed. And instead of listening, I did what most of us do — I pushed through, prayed harder, and punished my