As you know, I've been wondering what you were going to write about today. I think you are quite a bit younger than me, and I admire that you have this quiet confidence and strength. Have you always had it, or is it something that you worked on, acquired over time? I'm 63, and I feel as though what has happened to me since I became chronically ill six years ago has brought me to a place where I have more quiet confidence and strength. I've had to fight for myself because so many medical professionals gaslit me, and were out of line. Useless.
I pulled myself out of my depression with the help of medication, for sure, but also - and in a certain way, mostly - through writing poetry. Writing has always given me a quiet confidence. I'm a quiet person, I've never liked big groups. I am crap at confrontation, although I put my GP back in his place a couple of weeks ago when he rolled his eyes at me when I told him I'd FINALLY been diagnosed with fibromyalgia. I wrote a funny poem about that, too!!!
I think I've always had a quiet strength, although I know I lacked confidence earlier on. I envy women who have quiet strength AND confidence from a young age, I would say it's rare, or maybe it's faked? As in fake it until it's real? I don't know.
I hope I'm finally growing up! Growing into myself! It's about time. But it's the best feeling.
By the way, I DMed you last week after we spoke about my upcoming poetry book. I don't know if you saw it.
Oh Cesca, this moved me so much. There’s such a deep, rooted power in everything you shared—and I felt honoured reading it. The way you’ve had to fight for yourself, claw your way through dismissal and disbelief, and still found your voice (and humour!) in poetry? That is the most glorious kind of scary womanhood I can think of.
That GP eye-roll? I could feel the heat of your reply. Quiet strength, and thank goodness for it.
As for me—deep rooted confidence came later. I had sureness and fire when I was younger, but not necessarily steadiness. Not this. The real confidence? The kind that doesn’t rush to explain or shrink to be liked? That’s arrived through grief, motherhood, years of being underestimated by myself, and learning to sit inside my own contradictions without apology.
It’s been a bit of a wild ride of a week here—but I have seen your DM and I’ll be in touch soonest. I’m so excited about your poetry book, and so glad we’re in conversation.
Yes yes yes—scary because we reflect what others haven’t dared to look at in themselves. And we won’t flinch. You’ve said it perfectly: we’re not here to comfort. We’re here to clarify. Here’s to the women who hold up the mirror and keep it there. 🪞🔥
Oh I felt this one. That achey truth of “not yet” paired with the quiet certainty that something’s shifting. But I’m going to say what you might not yet: you’re already well in it. Already become the woman who writes from lived-in truth. Sometimes we just need a companion to remind us how far we’ve actually come.
And yes, you’re right—this voice didn’t come cheap. It came layered in years, mess, reckonings, and more fear than is obvious. We all get scared. The trick is: don’t stop. Write anyway. Speak anyway. Move anyway.
So from my slightly-swaying hips a little further down the path—thank you. I see you. You’re coming. And the view gets wilder. 💃🔥 xx
Savoring this. ❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥
Divine, you beauty!
As you know, I've been wondering what you were going to write about today. I think you are quite a bit younger than me, and I admire that you have this quiet confidence and strength. Have you always had it, or is it something that you worked on, acquired over time? I'm 63, and I feel as though what has happened to me since I became chronically ill six years ago has brought me to a place where I have more quiet confidence and strength. I've had to fight for myself because so many medical professionals gaslit me, and were out of line. Useless.
I pulled myself out of my depression with the help of medication, for sure, but also - and in a certain way, mostly - through writing poetry. Writing has always given me a quiet confidence. I'm a quiet person, I've never liked big groups. I am crap at confrontation, although I put my GP back in his place a couple of weeks ago when he rolled his eyes at me when I told him I'd FINALLY been diagnosed with fibromyalgia. I wrote a funny poem about that, too!!!
I think I've always had a quiet strength, although I know I lacked confidence earlier on. I envy women who have quiet strength AND confidence from a young age, I would say it's rare, or maybe it's faked? As in fake it until it's real? I don't know.
I hope I'm finally growing up! Growing into myself! It's about time. But it's the best feeling.
By the way, I DMed you last week after we spoke about my upcoming poetry book. I don't know if you saw it.
Great post, Madame!
Cesca xx
Oh Cesca, this moved me so much. There’s such a deep, rooted power in everything you shared—and I felt honoured reading it. The way you’ve had to fight for yourself, claw your way through dismissal and disbelief, and still found your voice (and humour!) in poetry? That is the most glorious kind of scary womanhood I can think of.
That GP eye-roll? I could feel the heat of your reply. Quiet strength, and thank goodness for it.
As for me—deep rooted confidence came later. I had sureness and fire when I was younger, but not necessarily steadiness. Not this. The real confidence? The kind that doesn’t rush to explain or shrink to be liked? That’s arrived through grief, motherhood, years of being underestimated by myself, and learning to sit inside my own contradictions without apology.
It’s been a bit of a wild ride of a week here—but I have seen your DM and I’ll be in touch soonest. I’m so excited about your poetry book, and so glad we’re in conversation.
With admiration, x
I really look forward to getting to know you better, Danusia. Oh come on, be the cleverest and invent teleportation!
Indeed! Cheers to the mirrors called “scary women.” We’re here to reflect the best in you which may first require that you see the whole of you.
Yes yes yes—scary because we reflect what others haven’t dared to look at in themselves. And we won’t flinch. You’ve said it perfectly: we’re not here to comfort. We’re here to clarify. Here’s to the women who hold up the mirror and keep it there. 🪞🔥
🪞🔥❤️
Oh I felt this one. That achey truth of “not yet” paired with the quiet certainty that something’s shifting. But I’m going to say what you might not yet: you’re already well in it. Already become the woman who writes from lived-in truth. Sometimes we just need a companion to remind us how far we’ve actually come.
And yes, you’re right—this voice didn’t come cheap. It came layered in years, mess, reckonings, and more fear than is obvious. We all get scared. The trick is: don’t stop. Write anyway. Speak anyway. Move anyway.
So from my slightly-swaying hips a little further down the path—thank you. I see you. You’re coming. And the view gets wilder. 💃🔥 xx