There was a time I didn’t know where I ended and other people began.

I lived in survival mode, shape-shifting to stay safe.

I was who they told me to be — polite, pleasing, quiet, digestible.

That version of me got through things I never should have had to survive.

But now…

Now I’m Roxy.

And Roxy didn’t come from a birth certificate.

She came from bloodshed and breakthroughs.

From trauma alchemized into transformation.

From nights I didn’t think I’d make it, and mornings I did anyway.

Roxy isn’t a phase or a persona.

She’s the name I gave myself the moment I stopped asking for permission to exist.

Every day, I feel it more.

Less apologizing. Less shrinking. Less explaining.

More fire. More boundaries. More me.

When people hesitate to call me Roxy, I get it —

It might sound like a nickname, or like I’m playing a role.

But this isn’t performance.

This is emergence.

Roxy is who I am when I’m no longer trying to be palatable.

She’s who I am when I’m free.

She’s who I am when I choose myself — out loud.

And I love her.

More every day.

So now I ask you, what’s your name?

xo Roxy