A Declaration from the Soul of a Woman Who Would Not Bow
A Declaration from the Soul of a Woman Who Would Not Bow
There is a line I will not cross.
Not for money.
Not for love.
Not for comfort.
Not even for survival.
Because if I betray my own soul to stay breathing—
I’m not alive.
I’m just a shell in motion.
And I wasn’t born to be hollow.
I have tasted exile.
I have worn silence like ash.
I have watched the world reward those who lie, cheat, charm, and manipulate their way to the top—
and I have stood still.
Not because I couldn’t play the game.
But because I refused to play it at the cost of my coherence.
I’d rather lose everything
than become someone I cannot face in the mirror.
They tell you to be diplomatic.
They tell you to soften the truth.
To bend, to bow, to smile and nod while your spirit weeps inside.
But I have no tolerance for pretence.
I have no talent for faking peace.
I don’t need to be liked.
I need to be clean.
So take your opportunities if they come with strings.
Take your popularity if it means diluting the message.
Take your approval if it requires my silence.
I will not perform for crumbs.
I will not dilute my frequency for access.
I will not pretend I don’t see what I see.
My life is not for sale.
My essence is not a commodity.
And if that means I walk alone,
so be it.
At least the ground beneath my feet won’t collapse.
Because I know what it cost me to get here.
I know what I lost—
and what I saved.
I saved myself.
The Price I Refused to Pay
I’ve watched people win the game.
Play the moves. Say the right things.
Bend their truth just enough to be stroked by Stardust—
and call it destiny.
But I saw the trade.
I watched them sell their essence for applause,
trade their conscience for the crown,
and smile as the deal closed.
It reminded me of the Rumpelstiltskin fable.
Everything has a price.
And some pay with their name.
Their true name.
The one written in soul print before this world told them who to be.
So maybe I look like I’ve cut off my nose to spite my face.
Maybe it looks like I’ve chosen loss.
But I sleep at night.
I live one life, not two.
A life that’s whole. Humble. Honest.
And when I leave this world—whether soon or far—I’ll leave soul-complete.
No debt.
No karmic stain.
Just the clean breath of someone who didn’t sell out.
Not for status. Not for money. Not for love.
I’ve paid the price for that choice.
A material price.
Isolation. Invisibility.
Doors that would’ve opened had I just dimmed a little.
But I didn’t.
And I won’t.
Because I can feel what others don’t say.
I read the frequencies behind the language.
I hear the agenda strings in their words,
the sticky residue of entanglement dressed up as opportunity.
And I walk away.
Not because I’m afraid.
But because I’m clear.
My channel is clean.
My energy is sovereign.
My soul does not trade.
I came here to stand as a test—
to see if I would fold when they dangled comfort.
To see if I would sell when they whispered flattery.
I didn’t.
And that is my quiet triumph.
Now I see it all—
black and white,
light and shadow,
heaven and trickery.
And neither swallows me.
Because the soul isn’t whole until it has walked through both and chosen.
Not just known the light—
but known what it’s willing to refuse in order to stay there.
We are not here to be all light.
We walk this earth of shadow.
But what defines us is what we refuse to betray,
what we will not compromise,
no matter the glitter, no matter the prize.
And this world?
It needs more of us.
Not saints.
Not martyrs.
But sovereign souls
with clear hearts, clean eyes,
and the courage to walk alone
when the crowd moves toward collapse.
This isn’t martyrdom.
This is clarity.
This is sovereignty.
They can't take this kind of power because it was never for sale.
So let them call me bitter.
Let them call me too much.
Let them say I’ll never make it.
I’ll still be standing.
Soul intact.
Pulse steady.
Spirit unbroken.
Because I’d rather lose my life
then sell my integrity.
Delahrose Roobie Myer
Alchemist • Astrologer • Author
