When My Grandmother Comes Out
I’ve always been known as the woman of faith in my family the one who prays before every meal, who believes in forgiveness even when my heart feels like it’s breaking. I’ve fought hard to be that person, to keep peace where chaos always tries to find a home.
But there’s one person one family member, who tests that faith every time they breathe near me. It’s not even the mistakes they make that hurt most. It’s the way their choices cut through the family like a blade, undoing everything we’ve built on love, trust, and faith. They smile as if nothing’s wrong while the rest of us are left picking up the pieces.
I pray before speaking. I remind myself: a soft answer turns away wrath. I try to keep calm, to rise above. But then I feel her, my grandmother rising up inside me. That fiery, no-nonsense woman who never let anyone get away with disrespect or deceit. She had a tongue sharper than a switch, and some days, I swear her spirit wants to borrow my mouth just to set things straight.
It’s a battle between the woman I am and the woman I come from. Faith tells me to stay quiet and let God handle it. Blood tells me to speak up and handle it myself.
So, I breathe. I step outside. I pray again not for them this time, but for me. Because sometimes faith isn’t proven in silence or in peacekeeping. Sometimes it’s in holding your tongue when every part of you wants to let your grandmother speak.
But there’s one person one family member, who tests that faith every time they breathe near me. It’s not even the mistakes they make that hurt most. It’s the way their choices cut through the family like a blade, undoing everything we’ve built on love, trust, and faith. They smile as if nothing’s wrong while the rest of us are left picking up the pieces.
I pray before speaking. I remind myself: a soft answer turns away wrath. I try to keep calm, to rise above. But then I feel her, my grandmother rising up inside me. That fiery, no-nonsense woman who never let anyone get away with disrespect or deceit. She had a tongue sharper than a switch, and some days, I swear her spirit wants to borrow my mouth just to set things straight.
It’s a battle between the woman I am and the woman I come from. Faith tells me to stay quiet and let God handle it. Blood tells me to speak up and handle it myself.
So, I breathe. I step outside. I pray again not for them this time, but for me. Because sometimes faith isn’t proven in silence or in peacekeeping. Sometimes it’s in holding your tongue when every part of you wants to let your grandmother speak.
22-25, F
