What happens when you shrink yourself to be palatable? When you trade truth for approval? This is the story of a woman remembering her wild — not the chaos, but the clarity. She’s not defiant for the sake of noise. She is the wolf. And the wolf is not tame.
If I see one more “I Dissent” tote bag, I might scream. Not because I don’t revere RBG — but because we’ve turned a legacy into a slogan. Dissent isn’t a trend. It’s a burden. A responsibility. A position earned only by asking yourself the hard questions — again and again — until what’s left isn’t performance, but truth.
“You don’t owe the world your palatability. You don’t need to shrink to fit. Be weird. Be wild. Be wonderful. Be exactly who you are, even when the world calls it too much.”
In this fierce, unfiltered letter from mother to daughter, a woman unpacks a lifetime of performance, people-pleasing, and rage—only to find that true belonging begins with being fully, unapologetically yourself.
We didn’t even like each other in school. Isn’t that funny? All that closeness waiting quietly beneath the surface while we judged each other from across the room.
She wasn’t always my person. And I wasn’t hers.
But she became the greatest love story of my life.
Not romantic. Not familial. Deeper. The kind that gathers your broken pieces without flinching and hands them back to you with grace.
Jasmine doesn’t ask to be let in. It climbs. It blooms. And it stays. Just like her.
“A woman who writes has power, and a woman with power is feared.”
The pen trembles not from weakness, but from truth. Writing is exposure — a reclamation of all the parts once silenced, edited, or erased. This is for every woman who writes through fear, who remembers through fire, who speaks even when the world wants her quiet. Write anyway.
They clap for the wings, but never ask what died in me to make them.
Becoming isn’t always beautiful—it’s violent, lonely, unspectacular.
But the fire that survived the unraveling? That’s the real miracle.
This is not a pretty story. It’s a true one.
Don’t look away.
We talk about "having it all"—but rarely about what it costs to hold it all together. This piece explores the quiet weight of emotional labour, the myth of composure, and what it means to stop performing and start telling the truth.
What if going high isn’t about being better, but about being true?
This is a reflection on the quiet kind of power that lives in clarity, not in spectacle—and what it means to go high without losing yourself.
A quiet self-interview to mark the beginning. Why now? Why write? Why this season? This is the piece that lays it all bare — the heartbeat behind The Fifth Why.
We talk about "having it all"—but rarely about what it costs to hold it all together. This piece explores the quiet weight of emotional labour, the myth of composure, and what it means to stop performing and start telling the truth.