They told me,
“Smile pretty.”
“Don’t be loud.”
“Be enough.”
“Don’t need too much.”
So I learned to disappear…
right in front of everybody.
Born into a battlefield
where nobody fired blanks.
Two families…
one little girl…
trying to figure out
which last name held my heart.
They loved me…
I know they did…
but love can get lost
when pain is speaking louder.
So I became fluent in silence.
I wore broken
like it was skin.
I let strangers
decide my value.
Called myself names
before they ever had the chance.
Used…
Dirty…
Too emotional…
Too much…
Not enough…
Disposable.
I spent years
trying to earn
what should’ve been given freely.
To be wanted.
To be chosen.
To be somebody’s home.
(Pre-Chorus)
So I kissed bottles…
because they never asked questions.
I chased pills…
because they knew how to numb memories.
I danced with poison
because it whispered,
“I’ll stay…
even when everyone else leaves.”
It lied.
(Chorus)
I am not the woman
they buried beneath their words.
I am not
every hand that hurt me.
I am not
every lie I believed.
Mirror…
you don’t get to define me anymore.
I’m tearing every label
off my soul.
Unwanted?
No.
Unlovable?
No.
Unforgivable?
Not anymore.
I know whose daughter I am.
(Verse 2)
The rooms were filled
with folding chairs
and coffee that tasted like second chances.
“My name is…”
God…
that sentence almost killed me.
Because I thought
my failures
were my introduction.
One day at a time…
One breath.
One meeting.
One surrender.
One chip.
One miracle.
I watched people
who looked just like me
stand up
and tell the truth
without dying.
So maybe…
maybe honesty
was stronger
than hiding.
Maybe freedom
didn’t scream.
Maybe…
it whispered.
“Keep coming back.”
(Bridge)
I forgive the little girl
who thought love
had to leave bruises.
I forgive the teenager
who confused attention
for affection.
I forgive the woman
who searched every empty bottle
for a God
she hadn’t met yet.
I’m done
attending funerals
for versions of me
that Heaven never created.
The world called me rejected.
He called me redeemed.
The world called me damaged.
He called me daughter.
The world called me addict.
He called me free.
So whose voice
am I supposed to believe?
(Final Chorus)
Look at me now.
Six months
of choosing life.
Six months
of saying no
to the grave
that smiled at me.
Six months
of learning
that recovery
isn’t about becoming someone new…
It’s about meeting
the woman
God never stopped seeing.
No more chains.
No more borrowed identities.
No more mirrors
telling me lies.
I am wanted.
I am loved.
I am needed.
I am cherished.
I am forgiven.
I am healing.
I am still standing.
And every scar
that tried to shame me…
has become proof
that Hell couldn’t keep me.
(Outro)
So if you see another woman
hiding behind makeup…
behind anger…
behind another drink…
behind another smile…
Tell her this…
The mirror isn’t the truth.
The labels aren’t the truth.
Her past isn’t the truth.
She is.
And she always was.
