So this is 30

soulfood, therapy

Every year for the past 7 years I have sat down on my birthday and written a blog post. If I cared more I would go back and find them and laugh at my naiveté but I don’t . The posts have a formula: nostalgia and pledges to seize the coming year. And well, this year is no different except that I’m angry and for once I’m going to just come right at you and tell you what’s up without hiding behind grammatical flourishes or metaphors. In this post you will find: why my boyfriend and I broke up, why my best friend and I broke up and why my mom and I broke up. You just have to read a whole bunch of pseudo-new-age-self-help-bs first. You’re welcome.


Yesterday I was brushing up on some counseling theory and somewhere in the midst of a Solutions Focused lecture some lady in a suit said, “Anger is the energy for setting boundaries”. I underlined that a few dozen times in my notes. Not that this is news. But it is my current curriculum


Every few days recently some new interpersonal issue pops up and demands to be examined. Why is this happening to me???? is usually where I like to spend most of my energy. Why is this an anxious persons favorite question? I could indulge myself on the injustice in all of it for literally hours. Nothing like putting 200 megahertz of brainpower behind a perpetually looping unanswerable question. But it’s comfortable.


Really the question should be what are you gonna do about it? Sometime the answer is nothing. Time, energy, space, the perpetuity of the universe, the motion set forth by another person, those are always at play. I’m just an itty bitty entity in the confluence of determining factors. Some times the answer is to build a wall. Sometimes it is to be rational and exert myself in a diplomatic way. Sometimes the answer is to cry. And sometimes the answer is to burn some shit down.


Last night I was sitting atop a bed of burnt bridges, half numb and half curious. I talked it out to the sunset. I said things like, ”If you look in the mirror and you don’t like who you see, then stay the fuck away from me”….. well unless we’re in a professional relationship, and then I can help you with that, come over! THIS IS THE DUALITY THAT I EXIST IN.


Here’s the problem with unpacking your own shit, over and over and over. Once you understand the difference between healthy relationships and destructive ones you get better and better at calling a spade a spade. As most of us do, I grew up being spoon-fed dysfunction. Insecurity’s other name is Mama. I knocked elbows with ego and short temper at the dinner table. Being part of a family can be pure bliss and it can also be an indescribable wound. These are not mutually exclusive.


One day I woke up (okay it actually took me over a year to wake up) and I was 29 years old. That 29 year old was surrounded by people that in their own right are absolutely magnificent. But in relationship to me were total shit. I say this with (mostly) no judgment. Because this is what humans in this bizarre modern experiment do, we attract people who are complementary to our own motivations, needs, attachments, and propensities. I have for most of my life entered into relationship with people based on my unmet needs that were all lying just under the surface. Each need valid in its own right, just not a stable foundation for friendship and love once I realized that I needed more totality.


Buzz word. This is where I segue into a whole other rant about how the total solar eclipse of the moon made me do it. WHICH IT DID, FOR THE RECORD.


Yesterday was a really intense day. I’m not prepared to call it good or bad yet, it was just a lot. I walked my dog around the park 300 times, gawking at the incredible New Mexico sky, ping ponging between sobs and infuriated slurs of profanity…. Who me??? Between all of the attempts to both treat myself and to create the safe space for myself to freak the fuck out it dawned on me. None of this has anything to do with me anyway. Obviously it was the eclipse.


Okay, technically the total solar eclipse and full moon in Leo, my sun sign, the day before my 30th birthday. That’s a lot of quinky dinks. Naturally, like any informed renaissance woman I googled, why did the solar eclipse make me lose my shit? After a few dozen rabbit holes I found this article that seemed to explain everything.



“ Eclipses are dramatic ‘wild cards’ in our horoscopes. They are some of the most dramatic tools that the universe uses to get us to pay attention to areas in our life that need to change. They uproot us, surprise us, and get us moving. They shake us out of our feelings of compliancy so that we can move from one level of maturity to another, to a higher plane, and they work very rapidly. Eclipses want us to change, and change we do! Take any message you hear from an eclipse as a non-negotiable and firm.”

-Susan Miller


See, I wash my hands of this.

Well not exactly, it’s all still my shit. I’m just becoming more and more free of it.


Raise your hand if you want me to stop beating around the bush and tell you what’s up. Before I put everyone on blast (keep reading) let me say this. I had a distinct moment of clarity yesterday about something that I almost did a week ago when I heard a rumor about me that at the moment felt untrue. The rumor was that my former best friend and I are no longer best friends because my now ex boyfriend was really shitty to me and I wouldn’t heed her advice and leave him and that frustrated her beyond belief. Thus we’re no longer friends. And look at that, she must have been right because that romantic relationship has since imploded.


Last week I felt compelled to say something publically about how this game of telephone had really gotten it’s wires crossed and none of that was even remotely true. For the record, it’s still not true. But my perception of it has changed.


What is true [at this moment, truth is subjective always, I’ve tried to be clear about that]:

My ex-boyfriend and I broke up. He moved out a couple of months ago. It has easily been one of the most emotionally confusing periods of my life. EASILY. Why? Because, like all romantic long-term relationships, ours was indescribably complicated. I couldn’t explain the nuance of feelings if I had a whole novel to do so in. We were together for three and a half years. A lot of shit happened over that course of time, good, bad, healing, painful. On the whole I’m going to give our relationship a B+. That’s not bad. Two people building a family together is inherently complicated. Two people who just barely agreed on what that family looked like got thrust into the management of a chronic illness and it was MAJORLY FUCKED UP for the last 9 months of it. Again, even within all of the fuckedupness it was dotted with pure sweetness. Even though it nearly crushed my soul (this is not an exaggeration) it was still 9 months of sharing a life with one of my soul mates.


There has never been a question in my mind that J and I’s paths on this wild ride called life intersected because of divine intervention. We had and have work to do together. I don’t know that I’m going to reincarnate as a more enlightened being because of it, but I do know that we are critically important cast members in each other’s life stories. The older I get the less and less I believe in fairytales, this was a made for TV movie. One of those semi crushing love stories that Ann Hathaway would co-star in. Like you’d never Netflix and chill to that shit because it would make you ugly cry and destroy your optimism about love, but at the end of it you say, damn that’s powerful and feel a twinge of superiority about your lot in life.


We’re currently in negotiations about how we want to continue to show up in each others lives in a productive way. As soon as I know, you’ll know… well maybe.


Next, my ex-best friend:

That feels really silly. Can you actually break up with a friend? I don’t know. Here’s the thing, few things are more complex than a relationship that you’ve been in for 17 years. She’s not just some girl that I can discard or lump into a paragraph. She’s a person that I have leaned on, crawled through the mud with, stood on mountain tops with, and cry laughed until we peed our pants together. Together. We’re both in our own shit, and in our own processes. Growth is really hard when the person who knows you the best, only knows who you used to be. That’s not a one sided statement for either of us.


I will say that to the very best of my knowledge, we did not become un-friends because of the dynamics between J and I. Though, to her credit, she did steadfastly love, support and listen to me wail and wish wash about how in the hell I was going to handle it nonstop for months and months. J and her got along fine. There wasn’t animosity there. And it most definitely was not the reason for us breaking up.


Here’s what shifted in my perception of said rumor yesterday. I’m considering that the people who were genuinely concerned for me first and foremost, did see the situation more clearly than I could then or even now. There are a laundry list of ways and scenarios in J and I’s relationship that were manipulative and coercive. I didn’t handle those times, or that trend in general, with as much self-love and assertiveness as I should have.


We make really fucked up decisions too much of the time in matters of love. There’s always a lot at play and we’re rarely rational. It’s easy to be rooted in judgment when it’s not your own shit. Hi, my name is Reagon I’m totally guilty.


Naturally this brings us to my Mother:

You may have noticed my absence at her wedding. You may have noticed my absence in her entire life for a number of months. At its hearts of hearts that just about two people trying to figure out a functional way to coexist. For the record we’ve been trying to figure this out for 30 years. We’ve both made crappy decisions in every facet of our lives. She’s in the midst of what I perceive to be a monumental one. One that I am choosing to not participate in. Why? Because I’m grown as fuck and I decided to not invite crazy into my life. Self-protection in this arena has been a series of excruciating decisions. Those may very well change, but I’m in no hurry.


What else do you want to know? Same fucking baby daddy drama as always. At least that’s consistent… My grandpa made it through surgery well, so that’s a glaringly bright spot in my life right now, there was a lot of karma that I leveraged on that bet. I’m simultaneously building three businesses, going to graduate school and raising an eight year old. My photography business and Lime Light are sooooo filling my cup I can’t even describe how amazing that it is to be doing work that I love for once. So ya know I’ve got a couple of things going for me. I’ve taken a lot of time this summer to be a wreck, having that space has been an incredible privilege that I have not lost sight of. I’m beyond grateful for all of the joy and love in my life and the infinite possibility that exists in following my heart and chasing my dreams.


So, here I am. The first day of 30. Having napalmed all of my most important foundational relationships in the past year. Frequently with too little grace or patience. But I did so because I deserve better. I need to be surrounded by people who are on my level or even better doing the damn thing way better than me.

Show me your friends, and I’ll show you your future.


Don’t worry, I’m never alone. Just upgrading the company. You wanna watch me or do you wanna join me?



Solid Advice

Love, soulfood, therapy

Sometimes the best advice is novice advice. Seriously. I’m in the business of counseling people. Counseling is actually a total misnomer. Really what you’re supposed to do is basically say nothing, and then just paraphrase everything that the person already said. Do not give advice. Do not tell antidotal stories. Do not interject from your own experience. Above all else do not tell them what to do. It is not how humans make change. Self-motivation is a real thing. In fact it is the only thing.


Hi my name is Reagon and I’m straight trippin’ over this man that I’m in emotional limbo with. We’re at that juncture where I carry my stomach in my sternum, my emotions and thoughts splayed out all over my insides like a broken mirror. Reflecting things that I wish weren’t there.


So, I start calling friends. It’s amazing how many people don’t answer on a Tuesday afternoon, it’s like you all have lives or something. But the truth is that the person who picked up the phone said exactly what I needed to hear. She tempered, “Sorry for playing the devils advocate but why are you doing this to yourself?” We talked about the reality that somewhere inside I feel unlovable. Undeserving. That I self-sabotage and project my shit on the other person.


Damn. Occasionally someone says something that pries back my eyelids to a reality that I haven’t even had the balls to admit to myself. Somewhere inside you feel unlovable. Fuck, there it is again.


That’s all of those deeply knotted familial roots. A household full of people, slated to love me unconditionally that told me that I wasn’t shit most days. Still ring my phone to remind me every now and again. My mother thought that she was keeping me humble. She didn’t want to see another beautiful girl acting like the world owed her something. Didn’t want to see another talented girl receiving gifts of veneration. Didn’t want to believe that things could be easy, different, promising for her own baby. Maybe it wasn’t a lack of faith but instead the narrowed perspective of trauma, the tunnel vision of overwhelm, the darkness of loneliness.


Either way who in the fuck does that? Sick people. I say that with a lot of understanding and love. Broken people work hard to create gravity. Misery loves company. And there I was absolutely splendid.


I bought that narrative. I became obsessed with perfection so that no one would see the truth. I excelled as a distraction to the shit show that was our home. I self-loathed. I gave sheepish consolations to people that told me that I had the world in my palm. That I could do anything. That I was enough. Okay, sure.


I have spent ten years de-programing myself. Replacing “you’re a piece of work” with you’ll have peace and it will work. Some days are easy. I look in the mirror and I see God. Some days I look in the mirror and dissect every part of my physical, emotional and mental visage. And those days mash up into one stream of life that I sail every damn day.


You see we get comfortable. Start believing that we’re fortified and over it. Grown and transformed. Only half braced for the bottom to fall out. For the man that steadily and sweetly reassembled the pieces of you that had been devastated by the natural disaster that is having a family and attempting to recreate that family.


That man. He pushed me every single day to chase my dreams and then come home in the evenings and enjoy the fruit of my labors. He was my fucking rock. Steadfast. My creative springboard. He was laughter, play, brutal honesty, and mostly the safe space that I needed to find myself. To love myself. And he’s gone. I’m loosening the grip on that heart cord but it’s hard.


It’s hard to stand up, really stand up, by yourself when you’re used to someone having their hand gently resting at the base of your spine. There for when you get tired, when you’re carrying too much and when you just need to relax.


I’m a fucking mess. A mess with good friends who understand all of it. Who have been there. Who remind me over and over, you are one of the strongest people that I know. You’ve got this.


She says, “It all boils down to spending time and enjoying the presence of another person. Simple.”


It is actually that simple. And sometimes I need someone to keep it real with me. To do the bad therapist thing and to tell you a story about herself, “There was a period of time where I told Jeff that I loved him and he wouldn’t say it back. I just had to hold that down for him for a while and trust that things would come around. He said, I have a lot of love for you I just can’t say that I love you yet. And you can’t do anything but have respect for that.”


That’s the mark of a strong woman. A fortress. A woman sculpted by the wind and the flow of failed relationships and broken hearts. Standing her ground in honesty and patience. Exactly the woman that I needed to talk to.

Don’t Worry I Did Eventually Call My Therapist

Love, therapy

I should go see my therapist but I don’t want to. Admittedly, I feel a little like a five year old digging her heals into the sandbox. I just don’t want to have to show up a month later and unpack the shit show that I have made of my life. Is it shame? Is it embarrassment? Probably both.


To have to be witnessed when you don’t even know what’s going on yourself sounds miserable. The alternative however, seems to be to lose your mind all alone. Maybe it’s best that way. Accountability at this juncture isn’t good for anyone especially me.


Grief, it does this thing that reminds me of that one really hard level of Donkey Kong in the second railroad world. It starts off with Donkey and Diddy in a tiny rail car, you have to go through this ominous abandoned coal mine with a broken track. You have to execute these breath-taking jumps from one broken bit to the next. If you don’t hit A and B in the right sequence, while traveling at the exact right velocity you’ll die. Just fall to the bottom of the screen. Snap, down one more life. And then almost cruelly it takes you back to the start to do it all over again.


It’s like that most days. Other days it feels like your big brother holding your head under water at the public pool everyone else frolicking about while you try to both not make a scene and not inhale two lungs full of chlorinated water. But still other times it feels like an underwater tea party with a couple of friends at the bottom of the pool. Air bubbles escaping through smiling teeth, count to ten, bob back to the surface. I’ve been having a lot of tea these days.

How To Be Single

Love, science says, therapy

If the word single reminds you of the number one, or an old sitcom from the 90’s, or a hot new Beyonce track then this post is not for you.
For the rest of us:
If the word single sounds like a metaphorical probation officer strapping your ankle with a bracelet of how in the hell do you portion a meal for one, piling the other side of the bed high with pillows so that sleep doesn’t feel so hollow and the constant impasse of dragging yourself out in public alone, again, then have a seat, let’s talk.

Singledom… singlehood … is a spectrum really. There are all kinds of ways to be single, maybe it’s working for you maybe it’s not. Single feels to me like skinny dipping on a pitch black night all alone. I’m not quite sure if it’s wholly exhilarating or if it feels like I might accidentally crack my head open on a rock and bleed to death right there next to the dock, fishermen stumbling over my corpse in the morning. (I thought about being less dramatic in that illustration, but it’s actually pretty accurate.)

Where ever you fall on the single spectrum here’s some advice, from a professional.


Step 1: Take Care of Yourself-

This means so many things. At the very least you need to maintain the status quo of standard of living, attention to hygiene, time in nature, amount of exercise that you were gifting yourself while you were still in a relationship. Derailing into a bowl of pity soup is not helpful. It is helpful to increase your self care from the tinniest things to the big ones. Those things are quite literally the antidote to depression. Think you’re above becoming depressed, well you’re wrong. Also, take some fish oil, it can’t hurt.


Step 2: Put Out the Word that You’re Single-

but also that you have a black belt in Karate and a ferocious guard dog. Your people might know their people. Seriously.

Gone are the days of the small hunter and gather community where one moment you’re gathering sticks for the fire and the next moment Fred Flintstone comes over and clubs you over the head drags you back to his cave and has his way with you. Not that any of us are upset about that. But what I’m tryin’ to say is that humans have not evolved to comprehend solitude. Our psyche, our physical bodies, our hormonal bodies were not wired for you to sit your ass on the couch and binge watch Game of Thrones every weekend. Neither can we make any sense of Tinder, isolation, self-loathing or the sinking sense of hope inching further and further away on a physiological level.

All of that is to say, do not allow yourself to be alone all of the time. Put some thing exciting on your calendar and…


Step 3: Go Out in Public-

Maybe your goal isn’t even to get into another relationship. That’s totally fine, great even. But that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t seek human contact. We are social creatures, surely you know that. Every single thing about life that matters in the end are the relationships that we created at this phenomenal meeting of place and time. Don’t miss a single day of the opportunity to be you in relationship. It’s the why.


Step 4: Make Friends Above All Else-

The wind might blow South one day and that guy or gal that you were ‘talking’ to, might just fade away. All of those pieces of yourself that you hooked into them, because you were grappling and any hand up would do. Those just get ripped out. And it will be fine, but it will be just you again. Well you and your friends. Make sure they’re there first.


There’s more, I’m just figuring those parts out still.

It was all so beautiful

pretty things, Love, soulfood, therapy

I met this boy with a big nose, a skateboard and a heart of gold. He asked me to be his girlfriend on a swing set. We would walk to the same pizza shop every afternoon that summer and then his mother would drive us in her old Saab to the movie theater. We were those kids in the back row groping each other’s bodies with the immediacy of learning sexual touch for the first time. It felt like Christmas morning and singing the hook from your favorite song too loudly at a stoplight. Every. Single. Time.

This boy and I. We didn’t know better. The only pertinent information was that we were both mild-mannered and utterly infatuated with each other. He would come to be my first great love. The one who would ruin it for every man to come.

What do you mean, men don’t buy you gifts just because it’s Tuesday? What do you mean, men don’t write whole albums of love songs for you yearly? What do you mean you don’t want to lie in bed with me all day exploring every bend and crevice in my body? What do you mean not every disagreement can be worked out be me batting my eyes and leaning in for a kiss? What do you mean?

Our love was sweet as pie and twice as nice. I lived in unadulterated young love bliss with that boy grown man, myself slowly losing my grip on girlhood, for five years.

I hope everyone knows at least once how it feels to be adored. What it means to wake up in the morning a fleshy temple for someone else’s devotion. The space between us, six inches, or six states, oozed with the divine nectar of love. Innocence. Joy.

What do you fucking mean it’s not going to be like that?

The past eleven years have felt like one long fall from that cliff. Hitting every boulder on my way down. Bruised, bloody, and gashed. You should never hike in sandals. Bring plenty of water. Tell your friends where you’re headed. It’s dangerous out there. It requires lots of perseverance. A steadfastness in exactly who you really are or you will be shaken. To your core.

In a crumpled pile at the base of that mountain again. I remember this place well. The rocks that at first looked ominous now glisten in the light. The little specks of mica call me to pull them in for a closer look. The dried pine needles can be gathered in around you, they make a descent enough bed.

Even that patch of cactus can be touched if you’re careful. There it is in all of its splendor, long lost hope for a heavy spring rain instead content with sipping from the morning dew.


Born of Fire

create, Love, save the whales, therapy

There’s this picture that my boyfriend took with his arm splayed out as far as he could stretch to fit our whole family in the frame. That photo, four wide smiles all piled on top of each other, that’s my life. Do you know that Jos Stone song, Spoiled? It’s that kind of love. And now he’s sick. I want just one person to tell me how I’m supposed to feel okay about that. In my heart of hearts I’m just so sad.

The Galapagos Islands are an active volcano hot bed. The islands move at rapid speeds, they survive for millions of years and then slowly prepare to die. As their land turns barren most of the native species leave to live on the other islands. But the problem is that some of them have evolved on that island. The Waved Albatross and Sea Lions still travel to the desolate seaside cliffs of Espanola’s  south side. The Waved Albatross, is a huge bird with an eight foot wingspan. They fly for six months to reach the island once a year. The way back to those cliffs is ancestral and instinctual.

These birds can live for up to fifty years and they pair for life. They will wait on the shore for days until their partner to arrive from another part of the world. Once a year the world’s entire population of Waved Albatross are on this island at once. A blanket of white dots stretched across the rocky terrain. When the mates find each other they start executing a dance of sorts where they clack their beaks together in a way that reminds me of the gentleness that takes over when playing swords with a kid, gentle but playful. They take turns incubating their egg, each one sitting for two weeks at a time. They raise the baby and then fly their separate ways. Until they meet again the following spring.

That’s what this love feels like. Like coming home. An old familiar home that I can feel in my bones. This is simply not our first spring together.

I would fly for six months without stopping to see you again.


soulfood, therapy

There are only so many times that I can hear, you don’t matter, before I ask that person to please exit the box seats of my heart and find a spot way in the back. The nose bleeds are a perfect place for people like you. Suddenly, your opinion becomes more and more faint. I will never control what comes out of your mouth but those sounds now are just a whisper lost in the crowd of cheers. Your face just a pixilated blur and I’m tired of squinting to find you. 

I want to tell you

create, Love, soulfood, therapy

Once upon a time there was a little blue eyed baby born in Kansas.

Why the universe decided that this lifetime was to be spent with you people I may never understand.

It is probably for all of the right- hard- reasons
that with time will start looking more and more like a perfectly executed ballet

bad choices and consequences on point, stippling around all of the majestic parts, waving their arms.

I sit down and have breakfast with death every single morning.
It resides in the belly of a man who likes an over easy egg and a piece of toast.
I think about legacy, leaving one, mine, and what that even means.
It feels like the only why,

but then again Walt Disney turned out to be an asshole.

And somehow she lived happily ever after.

The End.

La Vida

Love, soulfood, therapy

Since this year began I have been very much confronted with the reality that all of this, absolutely all of this, is the curriculum of life. 

We have this sense that life happens along a timeline, that it’s linear at worst. The promise of an upward trajectory pinned to the lapel of every kindergartener in America, shoot for the stars lad.

Oh contraire said the universe. Life is at best a pendulum. The more that it reveals it’s truth to me I see that it works the exact same way that a slinky does in any sort of motion: unpredictably and likely to get into a miserable knot that will take you the whole car ride to Grandma’s house to undo. Despite everyone’s best efforts to pry, bend and mold you back to the shape that they think you should be you-I will always have those little bent parts that never go back together quite the same.

So, here we are just space and energy removed from our box marching down the stairs, bringing joy, innocence and the guarantee of frustration to the world. Things will get tangled and there you will be all bent out of shape, mastering your next move. Because that’s what you do- move. 

On Being a Bitch

domestication, Love, social awareness, soulfood, therapy

Take a seat, let’s chat about this, it’s long over due.

One of my many muses Erin Brown posted a snippet from her most recent book about not being afraid to embody the word bitch because no one knows what it means any way.

I have had a very different experience with this word. The meaning is always contextual. And I’ve been called it a lot. It comes in two varieties, “You’re being a bitch” and, “You’re a bitch”.

Being a bitch typically comes from those around me who are more emotionally evolved. They distinguish being because they understand that I am a person with a myriad of ways of being, hats I wear, tasks I do, and conversations I have. What they unconsciously know is that being a bitch indicates a behavior or behavior pattern. We are not our behaviors, simple. Our behaviors are our personality, and our personalities are the vehicles for our souls. 

Please consider this next time that you think someone is bitchy or a bitch. Actually they are acting in “that” way. It’s the “that“, that’s subjective.

[Sorry to nitpick the semantics, but words have power.]

So, let’s talk about that.

First we have to understand that our ways of being are adaptive to our environment.  Personalities are the way that we have found that works for us to show up in the world and receive the feedback that we want and need. From this place we can unpack the bitchy behavior.

Yesterday, I was asked to conceptualize my family of origin as a square, and each person in it took up their own organic shape with their personalities (i.e., means to met needs) My shape (and your shape) is thus the negative space. Here’s a little drawing to help illustrate the point:

Today, I wanted to stretch this a little further. Imagine the box as our entire society. Now sprinkle in patriarchy, gender scripts, financial power, politics, our education system, opportunities, shame, sisterhood, joy, race, your neighborhood, your inner dialogue and every single interpersonal relationship that you’ve ever had. Dang that box is crowded.

And where are you? You’re (I’m) that squiggly blue bit trying to make sense of it all, integrating, wanting to be seen or not seen at all. We accommodate and respond to every single thing around us in a fraction of a second always!  You might be going with the flow, you may be making waves and you might be chillin’ under the surface of the water. Or if you’re a human you flex in and out of doing all three.

These are usually unconscious decisions. We’ve laid down these patterns in early childhood, solidified them through our teenage years and are carrying those shells everywhere with us as adults. Seeing that can be insightful, it can be painful, but it can also be liberating.

Here’s what I know to be my truth. Sometimes people perceive me to be a bitch. And that’s their assessment of me that I’m not concerned with changing. Because I know all of me. I know the expansiveness of my soul. I know all of the roles that I step into on a given day and I hold loving space for each of those. So, when the environment is just so and I feel the impulse to express myself in a way that is strong and firmly rooted in what I believe to be true I do so. I step into my power. I’m not afraid of it and I’m not afraid of what “you’ll/they’ll” think of me when I do. 

The goal in life is not to be liked by everyone. I have a laundry list of other goals that will always, always be vastly more important than this one. 

Here’s the second part. Yes, we all wish that our childhoods were more ideal. Wish that our past and current situations demanded less bitch power and more along for the ride. But, you can come to respect that those and this situation were not that.

Many members of my family worked doggedly to break me down. Strip me of my opinions. They were massively confrontational. I spent too many of those formative years at war, screaming, hitting, crying, fighting for my voice and space. Fighting to simply be in a way that aligned with my conscious.

In those early years  I didn’t just learn to fight, I also learned to choose my battles. To be impeccably informed. To spit facts like fire out of my mouth. They taught me to tap into a deep well of inner strength. I also learned a lot of coping strategies that I’m actively dismantling. Yet I respect them, because they got me to where I am now, in tact.

The girl who you may call bitch, know that she is so much more. She is a fortress and a butterfly. She is who she needs her to be. She is perfect.