Slowly, gently, I rise, each tremor revealing more of what has been hidden beneath. It is a strange sensation cold, like plunging into water for the very first time. The shock of it steals my breath, but soon I adapt. The chill of air and water against my new skin becomes less of a threat and more of a baptism.
In this stillness, I am confused. Silence presses in, and I wonder: should I cling to the comfort of my old skin, the familiar shell that has carried me this far?
But I know the truth I cannot grow within it. To stay wrapped in what no longer fits would be to suffocate.
So I let it fall away. I step into the rawness of my new form, tender and unguarded, but alive.
This piece is about that moment of shedding, the fragile threshold between what was and what will be. It is about the courage to leave behind what has hardened around us, and the quiet strength it takes to emerge into the unknown.
Esther Akello 
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