I relate to Persephone because I understand what it means to be changed by where you’ve been, not in a way that breaks you, but in a way that deepens you.
I know how it feels to enter darker spaces without choosing them, to learn how to breathe there, to survive there, and to come out carrying both softness and weight.
Parts of me still belong to the light, but other parts were shaped by silence, endurance, and learning when not to speak.
I don’t wear my strength openly; it lives inside me, built from everything I’ve had to adapt to and carry alone.
Like Persephone, I am not just what happened to me—I am what I learned, what I kept, and what I quietly claimed as my own.
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