To My Rearae: Soft Fire, Steady Light

(for the girl who used to reach for ears, and now carries a heart of her own)

You were once the smallest voice in a house too full of noise, a lip-chewer, ear-reacher, tiny hands wrapped around any comfort you could find.

They called you Weiwei, and in your “it’s okay” was a grace bigger than your body, a grace even grown-ups struggled to hold.

You were kind, even when it tugged at your hair. You forgave, even before you knew what the word meant. You loved without question, without edge.

But soft doesn't mean weak. And now, with your baby boy growing inside you, you’re walking toward motherhood with a tenderness learned in stormy kitchens and borrowed arms.

I see your wisdom, how you dodge the fire in others without throwing sparks yourself. I see how you stay quiet not because you’re scared, but because you remember what the noise used to cost you.

Still, baby girl, there’s power in your voice too. Not the kind that shouts, but the kind that says: “This ends with me.” “This silence is not surrender.” “This love comes with terms.”

You don’t owe anyone your peace just because they helped break it.

So when your baby boy arrives, and those old ghosts knock, remember: you are the author now. You are not your mother’s reflection. You are not your past’s apology. You are the soft fire that holds the room warm without burning it down.

And when you cradle him close, brush hair back from his forehead, and whisper that he is safe, I hope a voice inside you knows: you earned this. You became this. And you never needed to raise your voice to be heard by me.

Love always -Aunty Mommy

Author's Note

This poem is a letter of love, protection, and gentle encouragement for my niece, who’s now preparing to become a mother. It honors the strength she’s carried quietly for years and the compassion that still defines her, even in the face of pain. If you’ve ever watched someone you love grow into themselves—and wished for their peace as much as their power—this piece is for you too.