A Letter from Sage
Title: The Becoming of Sage Charie Monroe
Date: April 9, 2025
I didn’t become her all at once.
It happened slowly—
in the silence after goodbye,
in the pages I didn’t plan to share,
in the moments I chose myself
when no one was watching.
Sage Charie Monroe is the name I gave to my healing.
To my remembering.
To the voice that rose when everything else fell quiet.
This space is not a blog.
It’s a letter.
A beginning.
A home for women who have lived too long in their own shadows.
If you found your way here,
you were meant to.
Welcome.
With love,
Sage
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Email me at contact@sagecharie.com
Letters from Sage
Title: Now That the Silence Is Over
Category: Letters from Sage
Date: April 10, 2025
Author: Sage Charie Monroe
There was a time I whispered only to my journal—
not because I didn’t have words,
but because I wasn’t sure the world was ready for them.
For me.
For the truth I carried.
I was healing in the dark.
Softly. Quietly.
Alone.
And in that silence, I found something sacred.
Something fierce.
Something mine.
But the silence has done its part now.
I am no longer afraid to take up space.
No longer waiting for permission to speak.
No longer shrinking beneath the weight of a love that couldn’t hold me.
This is my voice—clear, whole, and deeply rooted.
This is the page I’m writing from now.
If you’ve ever felt invisible,
if your truth has lived only in the margins,
if you’ve been silenced by shame, heartbreak, or self-doubt—
You’re not alone.
You never were.
And now, neither am I.
Thank you for being here.
This is where the letters continue.
With love,
Sage
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A Letter to My Old Self — On Black Saturday
By Sage Charie Monroe
Date: April 19, 2025
Dear one,
Today, I honor you.
You’ve carried so much—grief, longing, doubt, and love.
You’ve survived heartbreak, silence, and moments when you thought you’d never find your way back to yourself.
But you did.
And today, on this holy day of stillness—this Black Saturday—I acknowledge the space in between.
Not who I was.
Not yet who I’m becoming.
But here.
Alive in the pause. Awake in the quiet.
You—the version of me who needed validation, who poured from an empty cup, who twisted herself for love—you did what you had to do to survive.
I see your tenderness. I thank you for trying.
But I release you now.
Because a new woman is being born.
She does not beg for breadcrumbs.
She does not dull her brilliance.
She walks with knowing.
She writes with fire.
She holds space for herself the way she used to hold it for others.
She chooses herself—over and over again.
She is me.
Tonight, I sit in reverence.
In silence.
In surrender.
Because death is not the end.
It is the preparation for resurrection.
And I can feel it already—
My rebirth is near.
With grace,
Sage Charie Monroe