The Weaving Looms
There was a time I called it broken.
The splitting, the shape-shifting, the way I bent myself into shadows
to survive another day.
There was a time I mistook that survival for shame.
But the storm taught me how to feel.
The rebellion taught me how to rise.
The witness taught me how to stay.
And now—
Where once I split to survive, I now weave to become
“the storm taught me how to feel.
The rebellion taught me how to rise.
The witness taught me how to stay.”
The weaver arrives.
She does not ask the pain to leave.
She does not demand the pieces to fit.
She simply sits, thread in hand,
and begins.
“What do I make of all this?”
She does not ask it aloud.
She knows the answer is not in the asking.
It is in the weaving.
She gathers:
- The ache that split her
- The fury that flared in her silence
- The eyes that saw too much and dared to keep seeing
She threads them through the loom of her becoming.
Not to forget. Not to tidy. Not to triumph.
But to belong.
“She does not ask the pain to leave.
She simply sits, thread in hand,
and begins.”
I am not the storm, but I remember the winds.
I am not only the rebellion, but I burn still.
I am not just the witness, but I carry what I saw.
There is no neatness here.
No symmetrical pattern.
No ending.
Only breath.
Only thread.
Only the quiet triumph of still being here—
as herself.
Where once she became a chameleon to survive,
she now becomes a prism—shaping light to colour.
Adaptability, once her mask,
is now her art.
“This is the thread of all that I am.”
Ashé
She has not escaped the many within her.
She has invited them in.
And now,
She writes the script.
She calls the cues.
She walks the stage, whole—not in spite of the fray, but because of it.
This is not the end.
But it is a beginning with her own name on it.
The Many Within,
Becoming One.
“This is the first thread of truth in the storm.
And where there is thread, there can be weaving.”
You’ve reached the end of this four-part reflection, but not the end of the thread.
Every part you’ve met this week — The Storm-Bearer, The Rebel, The Witness, and The Weaver — still lives within you.
Let the parts speak. Let them breathe. Let them return to one another.
Join us on Saturday for a Soul Bite reflection prompt, and begin weaving your own thread of becoming.
Reflection Prompts
for the quiet return to yourself:
Which parts of you have longed to be gathered, not fixed?
Where in your life have you become a chameleon to survive — and how might that adaptability now become your art?
What does wholeness mean to you today? Is it soft, jagged, stitched, shimmering?
If you had a loom and thread, what memory or part of yourself would you weave first?
What would change if you chose to become the curator, director, and witness of your own becoming?
Further Reading:
The Myth of the Fates — On the thread of life
Mythical Weaving & the Threads of Destiny
🌿 Parts Work and Inner Integration — A soft dive into Internal Family Systems
IFS Institute
🧶 Weaving as Healing — How cloth and soul are intertwined
The Healing Power of Weaving – Craftsmanship Initiative
In Tenderness,
Ashé — Being Human
A Note from Ashé
If something in this piece echoed within you, I would be honoured to hear it — in the comments, or quietly, via email, in your own time.Copyright & Sharing Info
All words © A.J. Ashé | Being Human.
You may quote or share this piece with credit and a visible link back to the original page.
This work is protected under a Creative Commons NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 License, unless otherwise stated.
In softness and integrity — Ashé
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