Broken Corsets

They thought we’d willingly squeeze into that old corset of victimhood – politely smiling while we desperately try to catch our breath.

But healed women are far too large to fold ourselves into hems and muzzles and cages even if we tried.

See, we aren’t starving ourselves anymore.

We aren’t small and well kept.

And we aren’t following behind with a dustpan and broom.

We are filled to overflowing and still growing. We are fierce, and powerful, and we’re not afraid to let you bury yourself in your own mess.

We are full with wisdom.

Full with life.

Full with the knowledge of our ancestors and the tidal force of the earth.

Full of laughter and compassion and righteousness and rage.

Full in our bellies.

Full in our hearts.

Fully prepared for this age.

They thought we’d curtesy and bow and kneel, so they huffed and they puffed and they blustered.

They tried intimidation.

They tried shame.

They tried blame.

But the past is the past and no amount of paper and ink, or even metal and stone can ever bring it back again.

They tried intimidation and we spit fire.

They tried shame and we laughed til the earth shook.

They tried blame and we spoke truth like thunder and rain.

We aren’t starving anymore.

We are full. And we are ready.

We are the protectors that they should have been, and when we have to step in you better believe we step in with the full power of the winds and the oceans, with the strength and fortitude of mountains, and the willingness to breathe fire.

They thought we’d step aside, sweep up the mess, and try to make it look pretty again.

They thought we’d keep the corset. But instead we are running naked, teeth bared, and ready for the kind of war that we were built for.

©️2026 Cristen Writes

PSA – anyone who wants to come at me with, “there is no them” should shut their mouth and open their eyes, cause I’m already ten steps ahead of you. I’m not playing small anymore and you shouldn’t be either.