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I have a confession. I like popcorn ceilings.
The home we purchased is older. Her bones are solid, and that mattered to me. She’s sturdy. She’s seen things. She’s held things. She’s stood through seasons. But she came with texture. Popcorn ceilings in most of the rooms.
My husband does not love them. He looks up and sees renovation. I look up and see character.
I don’t see something that needs to be scraped away immediately. I see something that tells a story. Something that has held light fixtures, ceiling fans, birthday balloons brushing against it, quiet prayers whispered beneath it.
Texture means something has lived. And March, in all her newness, has me thinking about texture. This is the season where we open windows. We clear closets. We donate what no longer fits. And sometimes, without even realizing it, we add ourselves to the renovation list.
We decide we need to be smoother.
More agreeable.
Less emotional.
Less tired.
More productive.
More polished.
Women are especially good at sanding themselves down.
We call it strength.
We call it professionalism.
We call it leadership.
But sometimes it is just self-erasure dressed up nicely. What if the very parts of you that feel inconvenient are the parts that hold your story?
The stretch marks.
The boundaries you had to learn the hard way.
The no you finally said.
The voice that trembled but spoke anyway.
The exhaustion that revealed misalignment.
What if that texture is not a flaw? What if it is proof?
Proof that you have carried classrooms.
Carried teams.
Carried families.
Carried systems that were never designed with your full humanity in mind.
Proof that you have lived. As the season shifts, ask yourself:
What am I trying to smooth out that actually tells my story?
What needs clearing, and what needs honoring?
Where have I delayed joy, believing I had to earn it?
You do not have to wait to be lighter. You do not have to wait to feel whole. You do not have to scrape yourself down to deserve peace.
I like popcorn ceilings. Not because they are trendy. Not because they are perfect. But because they remind me that character and texture have a place.
This March, may you protect your texture. May you clear what crowds you. May you celebrate the women who made room for you. And may you remember, without apology, that joy belongs where you are.
Sincerely,
Nefertiti
Founder & CEO, Mighty Works Education Group
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