It started small.

She said yes to a Saturday market. Just an hour, she told herself. Just to see the sun.

She said yes to an art class she found on a flyer, even though she hadn’t picked up a paintbrush since college. Her hands shook through the first brushstroke. By the third week, she stayed behind to clean up and chat with the instructor.

She said yes to a short road trip with a friend she thought she lost in the relationship — someone who didn’t ask questions, just turned up the music and handed her snacks.

She said yes to new bedsheets. Ones that didn’t remind her of Sunday mornings filled with silence.

She said yes to therapy. And no, it wasn’t easy. But it helped. It gave her words for things she thought were just hers to hold alone. She learned how to name things: codependency, self-betrayal, resilience, boundaries.

She said yes to herself in a thousand small ways. And they added up.

This wasn’t a reinvention. This was reclamation.

Every “yes” was a flag planted on soil that had always been hers.