Recalibration

Who am I

if I stop chasing success

like it owes me rent—

like it is late

and I have been covering the bill

with bone and breath?

Who am I

if I loosen my grip

on excellence—

polished and presentable,

palatable and proven?

I have been strong

for so long

strength feels like skin.

But what if I lay it down—

not because

I’m broken,

but because

I’m becoming?

What does my life

consist of

if I am not lifting,

fixing,

smoothing,

softening rooms

before I enter them?

If I do not translate myself

into something easier

to hold,

who remains?

If I stop providing answers

and let silence sit between us

like a well-set table,

will they fidget?

Will they flinch?

Will they finally see me

without the armor

of explanation?

What if I only observe—

chin lifted,

eyes soft,

spirit unbothered—

and let the world reveal itself

without my assistance?

If I slow down,

will I disappear—

or will I finally arrive?

If I give up

the version of me

that survives

on applause

and approval,

where will I be?

Maybe I will be

in my body

instead of in the future.

Maybe I will be

in my breath

instead of in performance.

Maybe I will discover

that I was never meant

to chase success—

only to embody it.

And maybe

a Black woman

resting

in her own knowing—

unrushed,

unanswered,

unapologetic—

is not giving up

at all.

Maybe she is recalibrating

to a frequency

where strength

is chosen,

not required.

Where success

is lived,

not hunted.

Where she is not

the solution—

she is the presence.

And that

is more than enough.