A word

If you had to give up one word that you use regularly, what would it be?

Long ago, when the sky was still being stitched together by stars, every being was born with a shadow. Shadows were not darkness but guardians — they walked close behind, carrying burdens so their companions could walk lightly.

I too once walked with my shadow. It kept me safe, protecting me from unseen voices and strange winds that tried to pull me astray.

But one night, under the silent moon, a trickster spirit appeared. It did not roar like thunder or strike like fire. Instead, it came as something small and harmless — a puppy, wagging its tail, eyes filled with false innocence. Around its neck hung a collar carved with the word: “Bitch.”

Others laughed, calling it cute, as though the word meant nothing. But I felt the weight of it — for in that moment, my shadow began to slip away, stolen thread by thread, until I walked hollow, like a figure without grounding.

Soon, words that were not mine began scrawling themselves across the walls of my mind, like unnecessary posts published without reason. They cluttered my silence, mocked my peace, and dragged at my steps like chains.

I asked myself, “Why must my peace be invaded by such trifles? Why must I carry words that do not belong to me?”

And then I remembered: the shadow was never truly lost — it had only retreated, waiting for me to step into my own light. The trickster fed on my reactions, but it could not touch the divinity within me.

So I rose, no longer cursing the puppy or the word it bore. Instead, I let the word fall hollow, like a stone into the void. I walked forward, not with the old shadow, but with a radiance brighter than any shadow could ever be.

And I knew:
A word may disturb, a shadow may vanish, but one who follows the light within cannot be dragged into the dust.