What a lovely story. The various forms of financial abuse that happen within marriage are not discussed enough and your story is so important in bringing these dynamics to light. The powerful image of the object associated with financial freedom is also wonderful, especially since it's part of a female inheritance.
Reading your words, I just sat here for a minute, feeling deeply seen. You’ve picked up on the very heart of what I was hoping to convey—the quiet, corrosive dynamics that so often stay hidden, and that specific, fragile hope of freedom passed from one woman to another. It means more than I can say that that resonated with you.
It’s a tough thing to talk about, but you’re so right that it needs to be brought into the light. Comments like yours, that really see the story, are what make sharing these things feel worthwhile. You’ve given me a real sense of connection today.
Thank you again, for your kindness and your understanding. It really does matter.
I'm so happy for you that you were able to write about this topic and with a positive ending for you. It's an impressive show of both determination and bravery! Thanks again for sharing.
Your sugar bowl is simply empowering. It doesn’t take much; just a little bit here, and some extra there, and at some point, hopefully you’ll have enough. Your ending made me feel at peace.
For years, I secretly sent small amounts, sometimes tiny amounts of money to my mom, who had secretly opened a separate account that only the two of us knew existed, so that one day I could leave my husband.
Thank you for telling me that ☺️. It means so much to hear it gave you that feeling of peace. That’s a beautiful thing to take from it.
It really is about those small, quiet additions, isn't it? The "little bit here and there" you noticed… that’s the whole heart of it. I’m just glad the idea could land softly, like that.
Your words actually added a little sugar to my bowl today 💛. Thank you for that.
Such a beautiful story about resilience. I can relate. My ex husband didn't know how to save, only how to spend. Things were always financially dire because everything that came in went out. I started a separate bank account where I would keep "my" money, like you, adding a little bit here and there which added up over time. It made me feel safer, knowing that I had a backup plan.
Now, I also live in my own apartment. I no longer feel his stress over money, and am free.
Oh honey, I'm so sorry you went through that. That constant, gnawing worry about money is its own kind of exhaustion, isn't it? The feeling that the ground is always shifting beneath you because someone else can't see the cracks they're creating.
What you did—that separate account—wasn't just being frugal. It was an act of quiet rebellion. It was you building a life raft, plank by secret plank, while trying to keep the whole ship afloat. It was resilience in its most practical, tangible form. That wasn't just "your" money. That was your sanity, your security, your whispered promise to yourself that there could be a tomorrow that wasn't so terrifying.
I understand that fierce, private protectiveness you must have felt. Stashing away bits of hope, not out of greed, but out of a desperate need for some solid ground. It’s heartbreaking that it came to that, but my God, it’s also so smart. You were saving yourself, in every sense.
It’s amazing how that survival instinct kicks in. You weren't just putting away cash; you were safeguarding your spirit, your ability to breathe. That account was more than a balance—it was a boundary. It was proof, even if only you knew it, that you could still care for yourself when the world felt so wildly out of control.
Thank you for sharing that. It’s a story so many need to hear. Not just about money, but about that deep, inner knowing that says, "I have to look out for me, because no one else will." That’s not selfishness. That’s the very root of survival.
I’m so glad you had that strength. I’m so glad you had your own back. You did good. Truly.
Oh honey, I'm so sorry you went through that. That constant, gnawing worry about money is its own kind of exhaustion, isn't it? The feeling that the ground is always shifting beneath you because someone else can't see the cracks they're creating.
What you did—that separate account—wasn't just being frugal. It was an act of quiet rebellion. It was you building a life raft, plank by secret plank, while trying to keep the whole ship afloat. It was resilience in its most practical, tangible form. That wasn't just "your" money. That was your sanity, your security, your whispered promise to yourself that there could be a tomorrow that wasn't so terrifying.
I understand that fierce, private protectiveness you must have felt. Stashing away bits of hope, not out of greed, but out of a desperate need for some solid ground. It’s heartbreaking that it came to that, but my God, it’s also so smart. You were saving yourself, in every sense.
It’s amazing how that survival instinct kicks in. You weren't just putting away cash; you were safeguarding your spirit, your ability to breathe. That account was more than a balance—it was a boundary. It was proof, even if only you knew it, that you could still care for yourself when the world felt so wildly out of control.
Thank you for sharing that. It’s a story so many need to hear. Not just about money, but about that deep, inner knowing that says, "I have to look out for me, because no one else will." That’s not selfishness. That’s the very root of survival.
I’m so glad you had that strength. I’m so glad you had your own back. You did good. Truly.
Thanks Argelia. It was a quiet rebellion, trying to feel a semblance of control when I didn't feel I had any. You and I both stood up for ourselves when no one else would. 🤘
Love this. I feel like this is so true for so many marriages. Your writing felt like a huge cathartic exhale for millions of women including me, my girlfriends, my mom ❤️ so glad you got to make your escape ❤️ 💖❤️
Oh, wow, thank you so, so much for this. ❤️ Seriously, my heart just felt so full reading your words. It means the world to me that it resonated with you, your girlfriends, and your mom. That connection… that feeling of "oh my god, you too?"… that’s everything. It’s why I had to write it. Sending you and your circle so much love and strength. We're all finding our way, aren't we? And it helps so much to know we're not walking alone. Thank you for this beautiful note. It truly made my day. 💖🌷
Oh thank you so much for being the beautiful courageous you!! Yes!! I felt such automatic connection reading your words. Such a “me too” moment in each paragraph!! I know from living like that how hard it must have been to put that all down on paper, but how awesome it must have felt to own your truth in your words and actions!!! So much love right back to you!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Reading your words felt like looking into a mirror. That "me too" — it’s a lightning bolt straight to the soul, isn’t it?
And you’re right. It’s terrifying to put the truth down. But you also nailed the other side: that incredible, shaky, powerful feeling of finally owning it. Your recognition makes it all feel even more real. Like we’re in this light together.
So from my heart to yours… thank you. For seeing me. For getting it.
What a fabulous essay. Thank you for sharing your experience, but also for shining a light on something experienced by many, many women. Financial independence as it relates to women doesn't get spoken of enough.
Oh, that just means the world to me to hear. Honestly, your words have me sitting here with the biggest, most grateful sigh.
When you write something that personal, you send it out into the quiet and just hope it lands with someone. To hear you say not just "I see you," but "I am one of many who sees this"... that's the whole point. It’s that feeling of whispering into a room and suddenly realizing it’s full of people nodding along.
You're so right—we don't talk about this enough. We talk around it, about salaries or budgeting, but not about that deep, quiet hum of freedom and security that changes everything for women. The fact that my little piece of writing made you feel seen in that... well, it means I did what I set out to do. And your response makes me feel less alone, too.
So truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. For reading so thoughtfully, and for adding your voice to this conversation we all need to keep having. It means more than you know.
My ex was the same as yours. Anything extra was his fishing trip. I’d scrounge and work the numbers over and over . When I finally left I asked mutual friends of ours, the female friend, if she could tuck away some money for me. She refused . The lines were drawn . She was siding with my ex. Years later I realized how much money he was robbing us of. Now when I hear a friend is planning on leaving I will suggest they start putting aside some cash they can access. Nothing makes a woman feel so trapped as not being able to access funds. I never had enough . I’m okay now and in a happy marriage with none of this nonsense. Thanks for writing . I’m glad you are in a better place. Jennifer
Oh, honey. I'm so sorry. That cuts deep—not just the struggle, but the betrayal when you finally reached out. 😤 To finally get the courage to ask for help, only to have someone draw a line like that… it's a whole other layer of hurt. It says everything about her and nothing about you. That took so much strength to even ask. I'm just so, so glad you got out. To carry that weight alone, scrounging and calculating… you deserved so much better. And you still do. Sending you the biggest hug. Your escape is your victory, no matter who failed to show up for you in the fight. ❤️🔥💪
Your words just settled right into my heart. Thank you—truly. It means so much to know that honesty landed with you, and that you saw that journey for what it was. It’s a strange relief, isn't it? When someone just… gets it.
And you’re right. That old sugar bowl sits quietly now, holding so much more than sugar. It’s funny how the simplest things can become anchors. Your kindness in seeing that, and in telling me, is a gift I’ll carry, too.
I love this piece! While so different in many ways from my experience when I began to realize I must extricate myself from Aesthetic Realism, the cult I was in for 32 years, the paramount need for secrecy was the same. I began secretly to write about things that mattered to me under a pen name because the cult only allowed me to write about it. What you wrote about the money described my feelings about my secret articles: "I realized I wasn’t just hiding money; I was hiding my evolving self, the one who was learning how to leave." And thank goodness, we both made it out. Congratulations!
Thank you for trusting me with this. What you've written moves me deeply. It's that secret act—writing under a pen name, carving out a hidden corner of your own truth—that feels so profoundly human and brave. It's like building a lifeboat, nail by nail, in a hidden room.
The fact that our stories are different, but that need for secrecy is the same... that connection sits with me. It speaks to that private, terrifying, and essential journey back to oneself. I'm so glad you began to write what mattered to you. That, in itself, is a monumental act of courage.
Sending so much understanding and respect your way.
Such an empowering story. I love the symbolism of using your grandmother's dish passed down to you as the vessel, so often the power and courage of women is underestimated. While the kitchen is traditionally where a woman might be expected to be to cook and clean- it is the location you chose to free yourself from a situation that had become unhealthy for you. Thank you for sharing!
Oh, I'm so glad you saw that too. It really hit me, that image of her using that dish. It's not just a bowl, you know? It's like… all those hands that have held it before hers, all those meals, all that quiet history. It feels heavy with love and all the things that were never said out loud.
And you're so right about the kitchen. It's this place where they were expected to be, to just serve and nourish everyone else. But look what she did in there. She took that exact space, that very expectation, and she filled it with her own story. She cooked her truth in there. There's something so fiercely beautiful about that—taking the place you're given and quietly, powerfully, making it your own.
It makes me think about my own grandma, honestly. The strength in her hands, always doing, always giving. We never talk about it as 'power,' but my god, it is. Thanks for seeing that. It means a lot to talk about it this way.
Yes!! Exactly all of this. ❤️ The older I get the more I appreciate my grandmother’s quiet strength. I think our generation does things louder, more noticeable, but the women who came before us were often just as strong and courageous- just flying under the radar more often.
Oh, that just hit me right in the heart. ❤️ It's so beautifully true.
I think you've put your finger on something really profound. There's a whole universe of courage in that quiet strength, isn't there? The kind that doesn't need a spotlight, that just gets up every day and builds a world for their loved ones with steady hands and a resilient heart.
It makes me think of my own grandma—the way her hands, all worked and worn, could tell a thousand stories she'd never speak out loud. That "flying under the radar" wasn't a lack of power; it was a different kind of power altogether. A deep, rooted, unshakable kind.
Thank you for saying that. It's a beautiful way to honor her, and all of them. Makes me want to sit and listen a little more closely to the quiet stories.
Thank you so much! 😊 Building that raft was a leap of faith, but reaching these brighter shores has been worth every wave. Your words truly warm my heart—it feels like sunshine after a long journey! 🌊☀️💖 So glad to share this light with you.
I held my breath as I read this piece. It was gorgeously written. Did you know storing money in food containers and among clothes is something almost every Indian woman has grown up with? Our grandmothers who were either sahm or earned in cash would ticket money away just like this - aextra that could pay for birthday gifts, unexpected expenses and very often pay for what the man wouldn't agree to. Financial empowerment in a tea pot.
Reading your words felt like recognizing a piece of my own soul in the quietest, truest way. That knowing in your bones—I feel it in mine, too.
It's the most profound kind of knowing, isn't it? The one that lives in the hands, in the memory of a certain fold, in the quiet click of a lid. You’ve named it perfectly: not hiding, but breathing. A space to breathe, to be, to hold a piece of yourself that no one else could touch or question.
Thank you for giving this beautiful truth its voice—for wrapping it in words so tender and strong. It’s an honor to hold this understanding with you, to remember and honor those quiet acts of love that were, and are, everything. They were the quietest, most resilient kind of power.
I’m just sitting here, holding your words, and feeling that deep, resonant hum of a story that lives in so many of us. Sending you so much love.
And yes, I know it. I know it in my bones. The secret rustle of a banknote tucked into a dal jar, the careful fold of currency inside a folded sari, the weight of a small coin purse hidden in the rice tin. It’s a language spoken in whispers and slight smiles, passed down from mothers and grandmothers.
It was never just about hiding. It was about breathing. That "extra" was a sigh of relief, a space to dream, a sliver of the world that was entirely her own. It was agency, bought one careful rupee at a time. It was resistance wrapped in the ordinary, a quiet rebellion stewing right there on the kitchen shelf.
You called it financial empowerment in a tea pot. That’s exactly it. It was hope, brewed strong. It was love, saved up for a rainy day or a child’s surprise. It was a lifeline woven into the very fabric of daily life.
Thank you for seeing that, for feeling it so deeply. It’s a story that lives in the hands of so many of our mothers, thrumming with a love that is both tender and fiercely resilient. Holding your breath while reading it is the greatest compliment you could give. It means you understood. Truly.
Reclaiming is a popular word right now, and for good reason. This story of reclaiming is told in a quiet way that is more powerful than if it had been shouted from rooftops. Thank you for sharing.
You've completely understood what I was hoping to convey. That "quiet way" you mentioned... it means so much that you felt its power. Sometimes the deepest healing, the strongest acts of reclaiming, don't need a roar. They happen in the stillness, in a breath held and then slowly let go. It's a profound thing, to have someone not just hear that, but feel it alongside you.
Your words touched me. Thank you for listening so deeply, and for taking a moment to tell me. It matters more than I can say.
Wonderful writing! Thank you for sharing your story and finding your way to light and independence. And cherishing your grandmother‘s sugar bowl along the way. ❤️
Oh, your message just wrapped around my heart. Thank you, deeply.
That you carried the story all the way to the sugar bowl... it means you walked right into the heart of it. That little bowl was my secret touchstone, you know? A quiet promise from my grandmother that lasted longer than any silence. To have someone cherish that symbol along with me—it makes the whole journey feel less alone.
Your kindness in celebrating this light and independence... it adds a little more warmth to both. Thank you for being such a gentle, understanding part of this. It truly matters. Sending you so much love and gratitude. ❤️
Thank you for sharing your story with us! I so admire your candor and your bravery in pursuing your path forward. Many blessings to you in the new year! 💕
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Your words feel like they've wrapped around me like a hug—I'm so grateful you took the time to share them. It means more than I can say.
Knowing that my story resonated with you gives it even more meaning. Truly. And your kindness feels like a blessing in itself.
Wishing you a new year filled with so much light, peace, and the kind of quiet courage you've so generously reflected back to me. 💕
Gorgeous piece of writing. As someone else said, financial abuse is a real thing in marriages and not often talked about. Thank you for the candor and rawness with which you wrote this!
Thank you. Truly, from the bottom of my heart. When you said that, my breath caught a little.
Knowing that it landed, that it felt candid and raw... that means everything. Because you're right — it's so often folded into the silence, isn't it? A hidden weight. To have you name it, to feel seen and understood in that specific, tender place... it's a kind of healing all its own.
Your words are a gift to me today. Thank you for holding this space with such kindness. It matters more than I can say. Sending so much love right back to you.
Oh, my heart. That line... it sat with me, too. I read it and just had to put the phone down for a second. It takes a certain kind of courage to look at something as ordinary as money and see the whole, silenced story folded inside it.
To hold that paper and finally hear your own voice speaking back to you... it's heartbreaking and beautiful all at once. Thank you for sitting with that feeling, for recognizing it. It means you understand that deep, quiet place where some truths have to live until they're ready to be heard.
What a lovely story. The various forms of financial abuse that happen within marriage are not discussed enough and your story is so important in bringing these dynamics to light. The powerful image of the object associated with financial freedom is also wonderful, especially since it's part of a female inheritance.
Allison, thank you so much for this. Truly.
Reading your words, I just sat here for a minute, feeling deeply seen. You’ve picked up on the very heart of what I was hoping to convey—the quiet, corrosive dynamics that so often stay hidden, and that specific, fragile hope of freedom passed from one woman to another. It means more than I can say that that resonated with you.
It’s a tough thing to talk about, but you’re so right that it needs to be brought into the light. Comments like yours, that really see the story, are what make sharing these things feel worthwhile. You’ve given me a real sense of connection today.
Thank you again, for your kindness and your understanding. It really does matter.
Warmly,
A Fellow Writer
I'm so happy for you that you were able to write about this topic and with a positive ending for you. It's an impressive show of both determination and bravery! Thanks again for sharing.
Thanks so much for saying that—it really means a lot. I’m just glad it resonated, and honestly, your kind words just made my day. So thank you.
Your sugar bowl is simply empowering. It doesn’t take much; just a little bit here, and some extra there, and at some point, hopefully you’ll have enough. Your ending made me feel at peace.
For years, I secretly sent small amounts, sometimes tiny amounts of money to my mom, who had secretly opened a separate account that only the two of us knew existed, so that one day I could leave my husband.
Thank you for telling me that ☺️. It means so much to hear it gave you that feeling of peace. That’s a beautiful thing to take from it.
It really is about those small, quiet additions, isn't it? The "little bit here and there" you noticed… that’s the whole heart of it. I’m just glad the idea could land softly, like that.
Your words actually added a little sugar to my bowl today 💛. Thank you for that.
Such a beautiful story about resilience. I can relate. My ex husband didn't know how to save, only how to spend. Things were always financially dire because everything that came in went out. I started a separate bank account where I would keep "my" money, like you, adding a little bit here and there which added up over time. It made me feel safer, knowing that I had a backup plan.
Now, I also live in my own apartment. I no longer feel his stress over money, and am free.
Oh honey, I'm so sorry you went through that. That constant, gnawing worry about money is its own kind of exhaustion, isn't it? The feeling that the ground is always shifting beneath you because someone else can't see the cracks they're creating.
What you did—that separate account—wasn't just being frugal. It was an act of quiet rebellion. It was you building a life raft, plank by secret plank, while trying to keep the whole ship afloat. It was resilience in its most practical, tangible form. That wasn't just "your" money. That was your sanity, your security, your whispered promise to yourself that there could be a tomorrow that wasn't so terrifying.
I understand that fierce, private protectiveness you must have felt. Stashing away bits of hope, not out of greed, but out of a desperate need for some solid ground. It’s heartbreaking that it came to that, but my God, it’s also so smart. You were saving yourself, in every sense.
It’s amazing how that survival instinct kicks in. You weren't just putting away cash; you were safeguarding your spirit, your ability to breathe. That account was more than a balance—it was a boundary. It was proof, even if only you knew it, that you could still care for yourself when the world felt so wildly out of control.
Thank you for sharing that. It’s a story so many need to hear. Not just about money, but about that deep, inner knowing that says, "I have to look out for me, because no one else will." That’s not selfishness. That’s the very root of survival.
I’m so glad you had that strength. I’m so glad you had your own back. You did good. Truly.
Oh honey, I'm so sorry you went through that. That constant, gnawing worry about money is its own kind of exhaustion, isn't it? The feeling that the ground is always shifting beneath you because someone else can't see the cracks they're creating.
What you did—that separate account—wasn't just being frugal. It was an act of quiet rebellion. It was you building a life raft, plank by secret plank, while trying to keep the whole ship afloat. It was resilience in its most practical, tangible form. That wasn't just "your" money. That was your sanity, your security, your whispered promise to yourself that there could be a tomorrow that wasn't so terrifying.
I understand that fierce, private protectiveness you must have felt. Stashing away bits of hope, not out of greed, but out of a desperate need for some solid ground. It’s heartbreaking that it came to that, but my God, it’s also so smart. You were saving yourself, in every sense.
It’s amazing how that survival instinct kicks in. You weren't just putting away cash; you were safeguarding your spirit, your ability to breathe. That account was more than a balance—it was a boundary. It was proof, even if only you knew it, that you could still care for yourself when the world felt so wildly out of control.
Thank you for sharing that. It’s a story so many need to hear. Not just about money, but about that deep, inner knowing that says, "I have to look out for me, because no one else will." That’s not selfishness. That’s the very root of survival.
I’m so glad you had that strength. I’m so glad you had your own back. You did good. Truly.
Thanks Argelia. It was a quiet rebellion, trying to feel a semblance of control when I didn't feel I had any. You and I both stood up for ourselves when no one else would. 🤘
Love this. I feel like this is so true for so many marriages. Your writing felt like a huge cathartic exhale for millions of women including me, my girlfriends, my mom ❤️ so glad you got to make your escape ❤️ 💖❤️
Oh, wow, thank you so, so much for this. ❤️ Seriously, my heart just felt so full reading your words. It means the world to me that it resonated with you, your girlfriends, and your mom. That connection… that feeling of "oh my god, you too?"… that’s everything. It’s why I had to write it. Sending you and your circle so much love and strength. We're all finding our way, aren't we? And it helps so much to know we're not walking alone. Thank you for this beautiful note. It truly made my day. 💖🌷
Oh thank you so much for being the beautiful courageous you!! Yes!! I felt such automatic connection reading your words. Such a “me too” moment in each paragraph!! I know from living like that how hard it must have been to put that all down on paper, but how awesome it must have felt to own your truth in your words and actions!!! So much love right back to you!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Reading your words felt like looking into a mirror. That "me too" — it’s a lightning bolt straight to the soul, isn’t it?
And you’re right. It’s terrifying to put the truth down. But you also nailed the other side: that incredible, shaky, powerful feeling of finally owning it. Your recognition makes it all feel even more real. Like we’re in this light together.
So from my heart to yours… thank you. For seeing me. For getting it.
All the love right back, times a million. ❤️✨
Aww, you're the sweetest 😭💛
That just made my whole heart smile!! ✨
It really is such a gift when someone just gets it — no explanations needed. You put it perfectly… those "me too" moments are everything. 🥹🙏
Thank you for being you, and for pouring so much kindness right back. It means the world. 🫶💖
What a fabulous essay. Thank you for sharing your experience, but also for shining a light on something experienced by many, many women. Financial independence as it relates to women doesn't get spoken of enough.
Oh, that just means the world to me to hear. Honestly, your words have me sitting here with the biggest, most grateful sigh.
When you write something that personal, you send it out into the quiet and just hope it lands with someone. To hear you say not just "I see you," but "I am one of many who sees this"... that's the whole point. It’s that feeling of whispering into a room and suddenly realizing it’s full of people nodding along.
You're so right—we don't talk about this enough. We talk around it, about salaries or budgeting, but not about that deep, quiet hum of freedom and security that changes everything for women. The fact that my little piece of writing made you feel seen in that... well, it means I did what I set out to do. And your response makes me feel less alone, too.
So truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. For reading so thoughtfully, and for adding your voice to this conversation we all need to keep having. It means more than you know.
My ex was the same as yours. Anything extra was his fishing trip. I’d scrounge and work the numbers over and over . When I finally left I asked mutual friends of ours, the female friend, if she could tuck away some money for me. She refused . The lines were drawn . She was siding with my ex. Years later I realized how much money he was robbing us of. Now when I hear a friend is planning on leaving I will suggest they start putting aside some cash they can access. Nothing makes a woman feel so trapped as not being able to access funds. I never had enough . I’m okay now and in a happy marriage with none of this nonsense. Thanks for writing . I’m glad you are in a better place. Jennifer
Oh, honey. I'm so sorry. That cuts deep—not just the struggle, but the betrayal when you finally reached out. 😤 To finally get the courage to ask for help, only to have someone draw a line like that… it's a whole other layer of hurt. It says everything about her and nothing about you. That took so much strength to even ask. I'm just so, so glad you got out. To carry that weight alone, scrounging and calculating… you deserved so much better. And you still do. Sending you the biggest hug. Your escape is your victory, no matter who failed to show up for you in the fight. ❤️🔥💪
I loved this so much because it was more a brutally honest account of the reckoning of your self worth. The sugar bowl is now your reminder.
Your words just settled right into my heart. Thank you—truly. It means so much to know that honesty landed with you, and that you saw that journey for what it was. It’s a strange relief, isn't it? When someone just… gets it.
And you’re right. That old sugar bowl sits quietly now, holding so much more than sugar. It’s funny how the simplest things can become anchors. Your kindness in seeing that, and in telling me, is a gift I’ll carry, too.
Sending so much love right back to you.
I love this piece! While so different in many ways from my experience when I began to realize I must extricate myself from Aesthetic Realism, the cult I was in for 32 years, the paramount need for secrecy was the same. I began secretly to write about things that mattered to me under a pen name because the cult only allowed me to write about it. What you wrote about the money described my feelings about my secret articles: "I realized I wasn’t just hiding money; I was hiding my evolving self, the one who was learning how to leave." And thank goodness, we both made it out. Congratulations!
Thank you for trusting me with this. What you've written moves me deeply. It's that secret act—writing under a pen name, carving out a hidden corner of your own truth—that feels so profoundly human and brave. It's like building a lifeboat, nail by nail, in a hidden room.
The fact that our stories are different, but that need for secrecy is the same... that connection sits with me. It speaks to that private, terrifying, and essential journey back to oneself. I'm so glad you began to write what mattered to you. That, in itself, is a monumental act of courage.
Sending so much understanding and respect your way.
I am honored by your words. Thank you!
You're very welcome.
Such an empowering story. I love the symbolism of using your grandmother's dish passed down to you as the vessel, so often the power and courage of women is underestimated. While the kitchen is traditionally where a woman might be expected to be to cook and clean- it is the location you chose to free yourself from a situation that had become unhealthy for you. Thank you for sharing!
Oh, I'm so glad you saw that too. It really hit me, that image of her using that dish. It's not just a bowl, you know? It's like… all those hands that have held it before hers, all those meals, all that quiet history. It feels heavy with love and all the things that were never said out loud.
And you're so right about the kitchen. It's this place where they were expected to be, to just serve and nourish everyone else. But look what she did in there. She took that exact space, that very expectation, and she filled it with her own story. She cooked her truth in there. There's something so fiercely beautiful about that—taking the place you're given and quietly, powerfully, making it your own.
It makes me think about my own grandma, honestly. The strength in her hands, always doing, always giving. We never talk about it as 'power,' but my god, it is. Thanks for seeing that. It means a lot to talk about it this way.
Yes!! Exactly all of this. ❤️ The older I get the more I appreciate my grandmother’s quiet strength. I think our generation does things louder, more noticeable, but the women who came before us were often just as strong and courageous- just flying under the radar more often.
Oh, that just hit me right in the heart. ❤️ It's so beautifully true.
I think you've put your finger on something really profound. There's a whole universe of courage in that quiet strength, isn't there? The kind that doesn't need a spotlight, that just gets up every day and builds a world for their loved ones with steady hands and a resilient heart.
It makes me think of my own grandma—the way her hands, all worked and worn, could tell a thousand stories she'd never speak out loud. That "flying under the radar" wasn't a lack of power; it was a different kind of power altogether. A deep, rooted, unshakable kind.
Thank you for saying that. It's a beautiful way to honor her, and all of them. Makes me want to sit and listen a little more closely to the quiet stories.
Love your writing, Argelia. So glad you built that raft and sailed it to brighter shores!
Thank you so much! 😊 Building that raft was a leap of faith, but reaching these brighter shores has been worth every wave. Your words truly warm my heart—it feels like sunshine after a long journey! 🌊☀️💖 So glad to share this light with you.
I held my breath as I read this piece. It was gorgeously written. Did you know storing money in food containers and among clothes is something almost every Indian woman has grown up with? Our grandmothers who were either sahm or earned in cash would ticket money away just like this - aextra that could pay for birthday gifts, unexpected expenses and very often pay for what the man wouldn't agree to. Financial empowerment in a tea pot.
Reading your words felt like recognizing a piece of my own soul in the quietest, truest way. That knowing in your bones—I feel it in mine, too.
It's the most profound kind of knowing, isn't it? The one that lives in the hands, in the memory of a certain fold, in the quiet click of a lid. You’ve named it perfectly: not hiding, but breathing. A space to breathe, to be, to hold a piece of yourself that no one else could touch or question.
Thank you for giving this beautiful truth its voice—for wrapping it in words so tender and strong. It’s an honor to hold this understanding with you, to remember and honor those quiet acts of love that were, and are, everything. They were the quietest, most resilient kind of power.
I’m just sitting here, holding your words, and feeling that deep, resonant hum of a story that lives in so many of us. Sending you so much love.
Oh, this truly means the world to me. Thank you.
And yes, I know it. I know it in my bones. The secret rustle of a banknote tucked into a dal jar, the careful fold of currency inside a folded sari, the weight of a small coin purse hidden in the rice tin. It’s a language spoken in whispers and slight smiles, passed down from mothers and grandmothers.
It was never just about hiding. It was about breathing. That "extra" was a sigh of relief, a space to dream, a sliver of the world that was entirely her own. It was agency, bought one careful rupee at a time. It was resistance wrapped in the ordinary, a quiet rebellion stewing right there on the kitchen shelf.
You called it financial empowerment in a tea pot. That’s exactly it. It was hope, brewed strong. It was love, saved up for a rainy day or a child’s surprise. It was a lifeline woven into the very fabric of daily life.
Thank you for seeing that, for feeling it so deeply. It’s a story that lives in the hands of so many of our mothers, thrumming with a love that is both tender and fiercely resilient. Holding your breath while reading it is the greatest compliment you could give. It means you understood. Truly.
Reclaiming is a popular word right now, and for good reason. This story of reclaiming is told in a quiet way that is more powerful than if it had been shouted from rooftops. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for this. Truly.
You've completely understood what I was hoping to convey. That "quiet way" you mentioned... it means so much that you felt its power. Sometimes the deepest healing, the strongest acts of reclaiming, don't need a roar. They happen in the stillness, in a breath held and then slowly let go. It's a profound thing, to have someone not just hear that, but feel it alongside you.
Your words touched me. Thank you for listening so deeply, and for taking a moment to tell me. It matters more than I can say.
Wonderful writing! Thank you for sharing your story and finding your way to light and independence. And cherishing your grandmother‘s sugar bowl along the way. ❤️
Oh, your message just wrapped around my heart. Thank you, deeply.
That you carried the story all the way to the sugar bowl... it means you walked right into the heart of it. That little bowl was my secret touchstone, you know? A quiet promise from my grandmother that lasted longer than any silence. To have someone cherish that symbol along with me—it makes the whole journey feel less alone.
Your kindness in celebrating this light and independence... it adds a little more warmth to both. Thank you for being such a gentle, understanding part of this. It truly matters. Sending you so much love and gratitude. ❤️
Thank you for sharing your story with us! I so admire your candor and your bravery in pursuing your path forward. Many blessings to you in the new year! 💕
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Your words feel like they've wrapped around me like a hug—I'm so grateful you took the time to share them. It means more than I can say.
Knowing that my story resonated with you gives it even more meaning. Truly. And your kindness feels like a blessing in itself.
Wishing you a new year filled with so much light, peace, and the kind of quiet courage you've so generously reflected back to me. 💕
All my love back to you.
Gorgeous piece of writing. As someone else said, financial abuse is a real thing in marriages and not often talked about. Thank you for the candor and rawness with which you wrote this!
Thank you. Truly, from the bottom of my heart. When you said that, my breath caught a little.
Knowing that it landed, that it felt candid and raw... that means everything. Because you're right — it's so often folded into the silence, isn't it? A hidden weight. To have you name it, to feel seen and understood in that specific, tender place... it's a kind of healing all its own.
Your words are a gift to me today. Thank you for holding this space with such kindness. It matters more than I can say. Sending so much love right back to you.
“This money was my voice, stored in paper and silence.” Wow.
Oh, my heart. That line... it sat with me, too. I read it and just had to put the phone down for a second. It takes a certain kind of courage to look at something as ordinary as money and see the whole, silenced story folded inside it.
To hold that paper and finally hear your own voice speaking back to you... it's heartbreaking and beautiful all at once. Thank you for sitting with that feeling, for recognizing it. It means you understand that deep, quiet place where some truths have to live until they're ready to be heard.
Sending you so much love. Truly.
This is just damned fine writing.
Truly means a lot to hear that. Grateful you feel it too. ❤️