The Saving Of The She-Living Your Story


She filled the empty inside her with many things, but since that pit was bottomless and ravenous there was no success in the filling of it. There was no end to its acceptance, its demand, for more. She lived in a constant state of lack and sorrow that she carried within.

It began to kill her.

She had been hurt so many times, her disappointments and losses so defeating to her soul, that her heart began to harden, and her mind to grow harsh and judgmental towards herself for her follies. She began to withhold her thoughts and feelings, because she learned they didn’t matter to those she had surrounded herself with. She ate, drank, shopped and smoked her way towards a fullness that never came. She used her intelligence, sarcasm and quick wit to distract, divert and entertain all the attention away from her weaknesses. She became skilled at appearing to have it all together, and the more successful she was at that…

…the more unbearable her isolation became.

The circumstances she surrounded herself with slowly seeped into her spirit, tainting her perception and value of all she was. She no longer saw herself as the mystical, mythical force of light she always believed herself to be. In response, the sorrow she carried expressed itself in the weight that grew and wore her down. Her heart faltered and mirrored its spiritual hardening. The futile bitterness and regret spread outwardly from her thoughts into the reality she created and the pressure of her blood flow escalated with her rage.

She realized no one was coming to save her.

Knocked to her knees, her head bowed, she accepted there was no storybook life for her because she’d been living in the margins. There was no epic tale to tell if she didn’t live a life worth the telling. She would have to slay the dragon and free herself from the tower of foolishness. There was no gold if she didn’t spin it herself, no knight in shining armor to save her, no prince to kiss her awake.

She had to be the warrior that would save her.

She drew the sword from her own heart and saw herself in its reflection. She was astonished to see herself as she would be, superimposed over the image of what she’d made of herself. She began to slice and chop away at the thick vines that held her back from the light she needed. She tore down the walls around her stone by stone with her bare hands. When the dragons of rage and bitterness landed in her way, she inhaled their fire, looked them in the eyes and said “Back. The fuck. Off.” If they refused, she closed her eyes, absorbed them into herself, and moved on to the next joy.

She became the hero in her own story.

Are you the hero in yours?

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The Loss of the She


Be careful what you wish for. She’s not some fairy tale, she’s the real deal, the woman who walked through the fire of betrayal and came out smoking hot. She’s introverted and larger than life. She’s the life of the party if you can coax her into leaving her solitude. She dreams big, cries easily, loves deeply and gives endlessly. She’s the irresistible force and the immoveable object at the same time.

Many are the fools who skimmed atop the shallow waters of her surface like a dragonfly unaware of the danger below the placid. So too are the careless, the cutting and the negligent who left her to bleed, expecting her to fade quietly away. Those who made the mistake of taking her silence for weakness, her calmness for acceptance, and kept slicing until she refused to bleed another drop. She watched those who hurt her with eyes narrowed in sorrow and rage, only allowing herself a small defiant curl of her lips as they blindly passed by the gold she held within her.

Oh you fragile of ego and awareness, you have inadvertently called up the wolf. She is pacing, eyes glittering with life, teeth gleaming as she smiles in a way that makes you shrink into your little reality. You didn’t realize she knew her own worth? That she could still see her own value in the dirty mirror you held up to trick her into a sorrowful acceptance? That she would be unable to contain the ferocity of joy that demanded release?

Take a knee and bow your head in defeat. You have lost a precious treasure, by not holding, listening, loving. You have abdicated your right to the fierce devotion, the ignited passion that only comes with giving and trust and respect. Step down and step back, you are not worthy of holding her hand, much less her heart.

She is every element, all possibilities, mystery, magic and the gift of flight.

She is wondrously, gloriously human, you fool.

You will mourn the loss of the She.