I used to think arriving was the goal.
The finish line.
The moment when everything I’d worked for would finally make sense.

I imagined applause.
Recognition.
The kind of peace that comes when you’ve proven yourself enough times to finally stop trying.

But no one tells you that arrival isn’t always a welcome.
Sometimes it’s a silence.
Sometimes it’s a stare that lasts too long.
Sometimes it’s being congratulated by people who don’t even see you.

Because not all who arrive are received.
Not everyone who makes it through the door gets invited to sit down.

I learned that arriving doesn’t always mean belonging.
You can work twice as hard to get half as far,
and still be treated like you’re standing in the wrong room.

You can be talented, capable, prepared
and still watched like you stumbled in by accident.

They’ll smile at your accomplishments but not meet your eyes.
They’ll call you “impressive” but not call you by name.
They’ll post about diversity and still make you feel like the exception instead of the example.

They’ll ask for your voice but only if it doesn’t echo too loudly.

And the truth is,
it hurts.
It hurts to climb, to stretch, to sacrifice sleep, softness, and certainty, just to arrive somewhere that isn’t ready for you.

To show up fully and realize the room wasn’t built to hold all that you are.

But I’m learning to see it differently now.

Arrival is not about validation.
It’s not about how many people notice.
It’s about showing up anyway.
Uninvited, maybe.
Uncomfortable, definitely.
But still here.
Still standing.
Still taking up space that wasn’t designed for you and refusing to shrink.

Because not all who arrive are received.
But that doesn’t make the arrival less sacred.
It doesn’t make you less worthy of the space you’ve earned.
It just means the world hasn’t caught up yet.

And one day, they will.

They’ll call it progress.
They’ll call it vision.
They’ll call it change.

But you’ll know the truth— you were just the first to arrive.
And you stayed long enough to make it possible for someone else to be received.

Because not all who arrive are received.
Not every place that calls you forward will know what to do with you once you get there.

But that’s okay.
You came anyway.
You learned to hold your own welcome.
You learned that showing up, fully, freely, is still its own kind of arrival.

And maybe that’s the point.

To arrive even when no one’s waiting.
To belong even when no one’s clapping.
To keep walking toward what’s real,
until the world finally sees you as clearly as you see yourself.