If you could have something named after you, what would it be?
I don’t need anything named after me.
Not a building.
Not a place.
Not something permanent carved into something that outlives me.
That kind of recognition has never meant much to me.
Because names don’t hold meaning on their own.
People forget them.
They fade.
They get replaced by something newer, louder, easier to remember.
And I’ve never needed to be remembered like that.
If anything, I’d rather leave behind something less visible.
Something people feel…
without knowing where it came from.
A thought that lingers longer than it should.
A sentence that sits with them.
A shift in how they see something they thought they understood.
Not loud.
Not obvious.
Just… there.
Because impact doesn’t need a name attached to it.
It doesn’t need recognition to exist.
And maybe that’s the difference.
Some people want to be remembered.
Reading Trauma Mama: Velvet & Taboo 