Vachon Imagined

The Invisible Girl—you know her well.

She is the one who carried everything she wanted to say but was afraid to own the room, afraid to take up space, afraid to fully inhabit her own body.

Ah yes, the body.

The body she was taught was created for pleasure was also the body she learned could be associated with pain. A body that could be stolen from her, taken advantage of, misunderstood, and misused. A body that others tried to define before she ever had the chance to discover it for herself.

For years, she lived as though her body was something separate from her, something to protect, something to hide, something that existed for the expectations and desires of others.

But then something changed.

The moment she began to own her humanity, she was no longer simply being used by the world.

She was using the world.

Using every relationship, every sacred promise, every broken one, every moment of love and every moment of loss as a mirror through which she could finally see herself in the light of day.

So that when the curtains closed on her at night, she no longer wondered who had taken pieces of her.

She knew she had been present.

She had chosen.

She had lived.

It was no longer her body being used.

It was her using her own body.

A body given to her not merely as a sacred vessel, but as a profound discovery—a doorway, a compass, a rocket launched into the unknown. Her body became the instrument through which she would find herself.

Not the version of herself the world handed her.

Not the identity created by fear, expectation, or the voices that spoke before she ever had the chance to speak.

But herself.

Alive.

Awake.

Free.

The world had tried to quiet her voice, but her voice was never gone. It was waiting beneath the surface, waiting for the moment she would stop asking permission to exist.

And when she finally found herself, she discovered she had never been invisible.

She had only been waiting to be discovered.

Waiting to be free.