“Table”

Come, sister—
bring your stories, your scars,
your loud laugh, your soft hands,
your weary hope and wild dreams.
There is a seat at our table for you.

Our table is set
for women who know the weight of silence,
and the fire of finding their voice.
For those who’ve poured too much
into cups that never refilled theirs.
For those who stayed too long
where they were barely tolerated
instead of joyfully celebrated.

Leave the tables that ask you to shrink,
to dim, to earn a place by bleeding.
Unapologetically walk away.

Because here—
we pass plates of power,
toast to truth,
and serve second helpings of grace and forgiveness without shame.
We laugh loud, cry freely, and rise often.
No masks. No measuring up.
Just women, showing up as they are.

This is a table where your tears are welcome,
where your joy won’t be questioned,
where your becoming is not rushed.

You are not too much.
You are not too late.
You are just in time.

Come sit.
Come rest.
Come heal.

Pull up a chair.
We’ve been waiting for you.