Before She ran, she remembered….

Stories, moments, and meanings behind the oil. This is where becoming unfolds.

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Chapter 3: She Got Away.

A short story from “I Wrote This So You’d Remember”

"Freedom is never given: It is won."—A. Philip Randolph

The night was thick with silence. The only sound was her breath—sharp, careful, urgent. Her feet pressed against damp earth, weaving between trees and shadows. The moon lit her path just enough to keep going, just enough to know she was not alone.

She had planned this for weeks. Every step, every turn in the bush, every silent prayer under her breath—whispered into the darkness like seeds being sown. The soldiers never saw her slip out. The others were too afraid to run. But fear had stopped guiding her long ago. Something else had taken its place: a holy boldness she couldn’t explain.

She didn’t know exactly where she was going, only that she was going. And that she would not go back.

The forest welcomed her like an old friend. It opened its arms wide and cloaked her in safety. With each stride, the memories tried to catch up. The hands that held her too tightly. The words that clipped her wings. The moments when she forgot she was made in God's image. But tonight—tonight she remembered.

She heard a noise behind her. Her heart jumped, her knees weakened. She crouched low behind a tree, clutching the necklace her mother had given her. A small wooden cross. She held it to her lips and prayed, "Lord, hide me under the shadow of your wings."

And just like that, the fear passed.

The sound was nothing. Just a bird, rustling.

She stood again. Not just physically. Spiritually. Emotionally. Prophetically.

African Proverb: "However long the night, the dawn will break."

When dawn came, she saw a clearing ahead. A soft golden light spilled across the grass, and she knew: she had crossed over. Not just through the woods, but into something new. A freedom she’d never known.

She looked at her hands, her arms, her breath rising in the morning air. Everything was still hers. But she was not the same.

In that moment, she remembered

Ayak A

“She got away… and remembered her name.”

“She got away…
and remembered her name.”

See Her Story. Wear the Light.

“Read the Poem”

See More from Clothed in Light

Why These Words Still Matter.

You didn’t land here by accident.
Maybe you came looking for a story.
Or maybe… something inside you just knew it was time to remember.

These words were written for the one still healing.
For the one rising.
For the one who thought they were forgotten.

And that’s why this space matters…because you matter.

Take what speaks. Leave with what strengthens.
We’ve prepared something for you.

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Chap 18 Poem: “I Am Not That Girl Anymore”

I am not the girl who flinched at shadows,

Who folded herself small in the corners of rooms,

Afraid that too much light would make her visible—

And too much truth would make her vulnerable.

I am not the girl who begged to belong,

Who measured her worth by silence and side-eyes,

Who swallowed her dreams because someone said,

“Girls like you don’t rise.” I am not the girl who waited on letters that never came,

Or twisted herself into shapes to be loved,

Only to find that love never asked her to unravel— She just didn’t know that yet.

Chap 18 Poem: “I Am Not That Girl Anymore”

I am not the girl who flinched at shadows,

Who folded herself small in the corners of rooms,

Afraid that too much light would make her visible—

And too much truth would make her vulnerable.

I am not the girl who begged to belong,

Who measured her worth by silence and side-eyes,

Who swallowed her dreams because someone said,

“Girls like you don’t rise.” I am not the girl who waited on letters that never came,

Or twisted herself into shapes to be loved,

Only to find that love never asked her to unravel— She just didn’t know that yet.

I have outgrown those shoes. I have rewritten that name.

I have looked at the bruises they left on my self-esteem And built an altar from the pain.

Now I walk into rooms. Not to be seen. But to see.

To recognize the divine reflection staring back at me.

I belong. Not because they said so. But because God called me by name.

Crowned me in secret. Anointed me in silence. A

nd watched me bloom anyway.

So don’t look for the girl who once dimmed her flame.

She left through the back door

And never came back again.

I have outgrown those shoes. I have rewritten that name.

I have looked at the bruises they left on my self-esteem And built an altar from the pain.

Now I walk into rooms. Not to be seen. But to see.

To recognize the divine reflection staring back at me.

I belong. Not because they said so. But because God called me by name.

Crowned me in secret. Anointed me in silence. A

nd watched me bloom anyway.

So don’t look for the girl who once dimmed her flame.

She left through the back door

And never came back again.

From the poetry collection Clothed in Light-

"A reminder that escape is only part of the story. Becoming is the rest."

I Am Not That Girl Anymore

From the poetry collection “Clothed in Light”

Ayak A.

I Am Not That Girl Anymore

From the poetry collection “Clothed in Light”

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Chapter 3: She Got Away.A short story from “I Wrote This So You’d Remember”"Freedom is never given: It is won."—A. Philip Randolph