I Made a Promise to My Sisters

Not the ones by blood but the ones who bleed silently, who carry generations of silence in their spines and still stand tall.

I promised I would build a space where we wouldn’t be punished for being soft. Where we could cry without explaining, rage without apologizing, and heal without being told to do it quietly.

I promised I would not replicate what harmed us. I would not turn healing into a hustle. I would not dress up colonization as care. I would not lead like those who once made me small.

I made a promise that Rooh would be a return, not just to ourselves, but to each other. A place where we hold one another without performance. Without hierarchy. Without fear.

I made a promise that our grief would have a home. That our joy would not be policed. That our bodies would be blessed, not broken down for insurance codes and treatment plans.

And I made a promise that even if they came for me, my voice, my work, my name, they would never touch what lives inside this sanctuary.

Because Rooh isn’t mine alone. It belongs to every sister who needed it before it existed. And every sister who will walk through its doors and finally, finally feel like she’s come home.