For Molly

On the morning of my mother's birthday, I woke up with frustration pressing on my chest. Not because I don't love her, but because we don't even have a relationship. And the first thought that filled my mind that day wasn't celebration it was sorrow. It was the ache of what's never been, what still isn't.

I started journaling, trying to process it, and as I shared my grief with my best friend, as she listened and paused to respond she gently said,

"Your mom was your first heartbreak."

And the moment those words left her lips, they pierced something deep in my soul.

I hadn't thought of it in that way. But it was true. I've had to navigate childhood, womanhood, motherhood, marriage, heartbreak and healing-without my mother.

Without her voice. Without her presence. Without her hand to guide me.

And in that moment I realized....thats where it started. . Or so I thought. As I sat in that revelation, I felt my spirit stirring even deeper. In that moment I realized this did not start with my mother, this went further back. This started with Molly.

I don't even know where the name came from. It just did. Molly

I questioned it at first because it didn't feel like the kind of name you'd expect from a spiritual ancestor from my lineage. But then I remembered...the sacred doesn't always come dressed in robes. Sometimes, it comes wrapped in simplicity.

Molly. My grandmother generations before me. A woman I never met but somehow always knew. The one who prayed for me, long before I ever knew I needed prayer. The one who hid her identity, power, and gifts under the facade of Molly.

One day I asked God, my Father, " who prayed for me?" And I heard in spirit, 'your grandmother.'

She came to me without a face. But with presence. She came not to be remembered by the lineage charts or family trees, but by the legacy of her hiding. She was the one who buried her brilliance in the ground, hoping-believing-that one day, someone would rise to dig it up. Someone would rise and say, " I remember."

I am that someone.

This post is not just about my mother, it's about Molly. Its about the women in my bloodline who were trained to be quiet, to serve, to shrink. Who were told that love looked like obedience. That safety came through silence. that worthiness was only granted when others said so.

They didn't know their own power, because they were not allowed to. By the time it got to my mother's generation the identity was nearly lost. The voice was barely a whisper.

And I? I forgot too. I forgot my birthright. I forgot the strength of my lineage. I forgot the fire in my bones. Until now.

Because Molly hid, I can be seen. Because she quieted her roar, I can now scream from the mountain top. Because she believed by faith that one day the Father would raise one up who could speak for them all. Here I AM.

I write this not just for her, but for every woman in my family. For my tias. My cousins. For my daughter. For the woman who came before and the ones still rising.

If you are reading this, and you come from women who were silenced, women who swallowed their truth, women women who were told to serve instead of shine- know this: it didn't start with you, but it can change with you.

This is not just my story. This is a call. A mirror. A fire starter.

I write this in memory and gratitude of Molly and in honor of the voice she buried inside of me.

To my daughter- who is already more vocal, more sovereign, more in love with herself than I ever was. You are proof, evidence that the curse is broken. The silence is ending. The light is rising.

To my mother, Im impressed to hold this space of love and compassion for when you are ready to receive it. No judgment. Just pure love and embrace.

To the next daughters- I will carry this voice until you find your own. I will hold the light until you're ready to burn with it.

And when you are ready......it will be willingly and openly shared.