A Letter to My Daughter
My sweet girl, Joy
In 2021, you arrived
full of light,
full of purpose,
full of the name I gave you: Joy.
Before the world knew,
before they turned the lights pink in that hospital room,
I already knew you were mine.
My spirit had spoken your name long before my lips did.
You came with power,
like prophecy fulfilled
a sacred answer to prayers I never said out loud.
The moment I held you,
I knew everything would change.
You were the beginning of my becoming.
The start of my unlearning.
The reason I chose to stop hiding from myself.
Motherhood opened me,
not just physically
but spiritually.
You made me want to break every generational chain
that ever tried to bind the women before us.
I didn’t want you to inherit wounds I hadn’t healed.
And so, I began the painful, holy work
of becoming whole.
This journey hasn’t been easy.
There was a time when distance came between us
not by my choice,
but still divinely used.
In that silence,
in that ache,
I cried for you.
I reached for God.
I began to bloom.
I missed so many moments
firsts I thought would be mine.
But through every tear,
I believed this:
you would know me.
Not just as the woman who birthed you,
but as the woman who became herself
so you could be free.
You were never lost.
Only held for a while
by time and grace,
as I gathered the pieces of my voice
and remembered who I was.
Because this love,
what we have
it’s sacred.
Not even absence could dim it.
bell hooks wrote in Sisters of the Yam:
“Healing is an act of communion.”
And baby, every breath I’ve taken toward wholeness
has been a quiet communion with you.
I did not forget you.
I did not stop being your mother.
I only grew into her
the version of me that you deserve.
And when we are together again,
you will not meet a broken woman.
You will meet a mother who rose
soft and strong,
full of love,
and ready to show you
just how sacred you’ve always been.
With every beat of my heart,
I love you.
Always,
Mama
Song: Life is gonna change by Sophia James
