
Personal Reflection
It lands like a correction spoken through clenched teeth. Not loud, not theatrical—just firm. The kind of sentence you say after you’ve been talked over one too many times. It doesn’t ask for agreement. It doesn’t explain itself. It just stands there.
Because most of us have worn that word at some point—wrong. Not stitched onto us all at once, but added piece by piece. A comment here. A look there. The subtle shift in someone’s tone when you say what you really think.
I can still hear it in small moments—the pause before I speak, the second-guessing, the quiet rehearsal in my head while someone else is already talking. Like I’m trying to sand down the edges of what I’m about to say before it even leaves my mouth.
That’s how it settles in. Not as a wound, but as a habit. You start adjusting yourself to avoid friction. You call it being thoughtful, being careful—but it’s just fear wearing a better suit.
June Jordan doesn’t negotiate with that voice. She cuts it off at the root. Not with anger—but with clarity. A refusal to let other people’s discomfort rewrite her identity.
Because once you accept that label, you don’t just question your words—you question your right to have them.
There’s a different kind of quiet that comes when you stop correcting yourself mid-sentence. When you let the thought land exactly as it is—unpolished, maybe imperfect, but honest.
Not every word will be right. That’s not the point.
The point is—it’s yours.
And that’s enough.
Reflective Prompt
Where do you still edit yourself before you’re even heard?
