You are not a warning sign.You are a lighthouse. And those who mistake your light for weakness have already drowned in their own darkness.
"Honor medal for you who have put your life on the line to save children in Ukraine." —I was in a few wars since the 90s to save lives.
The First Scar. I still remember the first time I let someone walk through my garden with muddy boots.
They laughed as they crushed the flowers I'd spent seasons growing. "You're too soft," they said, while wiping their feet on my heart. I believed them—until I realized some people confuse tenderness with weakness, and kindness with an invitation to take.
The Lesson in the Wound. Pain is an excellent teacher, though a cruel one. It taught me:
Not all who smile at you wish you well. Some hands outstretched are not for helping, but for holding you down. The darkest souls often dress their poison in pretty words, but sometimes behind cynicism or negging. I learned to watch how people touch what they cannot own—my joy, my peace, my hope.
The Turning.
One winter, I met a woman who carried her scars like lanterns. "They tried to bury us," she said, "but they didn't know we were seeds." That day, I stopped apologizing for my roots. I began building fences not out of fear, but fierce love—for the child I was, the warrior I became, and those still finding their way in order to attain a more beautiful soul.
The Protection Ritual. Now when dark souls come (and they always do), I:
Listen to my skin (it prickles before my mind understands). Ask the old question: "Does this person know what sacred means?" Offer no explanations to those who specialize in misunderstanding.
The Invitation.
This is not a story about hiding. It's about choosing—with both hands open—who deserves to witness your light. If you're reading this, you've survived being underestimated too. That makes us gardeners of a different soil.
And to the rest of you; thank you for the thousands of beautiful comments you have given me over the years. You live on in my heart.