“Yes, I deserve a spring—I owe nobody nothing.”

Those words echoed through me like a quiet revolution.

Winter had been long. Not just in weather, but in spirit. I had trudged through its bitter winds of doubt, its icy silence of self-reproach. Nights blurred into each other, heavy with the weight of expectations I never asked for. I wore guilt like a second skin, stitched together by obligations that weren’t mine to fulfill.

But seasons shift. And so did I.

Spring didn’t arrive with fanfare—it crept in softly. A sliver of light on the horizon. A whisper of warmth in the air. And with it came the realization: I am worthy of renewal. Not because I earned it, but because I exist. Because I endured.

I began to shed. Not just coats and layers, but burdens. The invisible ones. The ones that told me I had to be more, do more, give more. I untangled myself from webs spun by others’ needs and stepped into the clearing of my own truth.

The earth began to bloom, and so did I.

Birdsong filled the mornings, and I listened—not just to them, but to myself. To the quiet strength that had always been there, waiting beneath the noise. I stood taller, not because the world changed, but because I did. I stopped apologizing for taking up space. I stopped asking permission to feel joy.

I owe nobody nothing. I have given, and I have grieved. I have bent, and I have broken. And now, I choose to grow.

This spring is mine. A season not just of flowers, but of fierce reclamation. I will bask in the sun’s warmth, let the breeze carry away what no longer serves me, and root myself in the soil of self-love. I will nurture my dreams like wildflowers—unruly, radiant, unapologetic.

Because I am free.

And I am enough. 🌻

© Beatriz Esmer