When I was 11-years-old, I had my first period.
I had my first period and I cried. And I cried.
I didn’t know why I was crying. But it was the first reaction that came through my body.
Now, I see the pain through a different lens. I can see the loss I felt.
The loss of being a child. The fear of being a woman.
Not just for the loss of innocence and freedom and the upcoming weight of responsibility.
But for the fear…of the danger of being a woman.
Fearing being desired and desiring.
Fearing being everything desired yet not wanted.
Fearing being rejected as I was at my birth when they said, “it’s a girl.”
As I cried, the same pain that my birth mother felt washed through me.
You are not enough if you are a woman.
You are everything and nothing at the same time.
With immense power to create and sustain life. With immense beauty and magic to share with the world. The powerful mystic witch slumbering within.
You are nothing in a lineage of women with no voice.
How do you be everything and nothing when you born as everything …and nothing.
As a business owner, I feel the need to hide myself from the world. Trying to protect the world from my breasts, sensuality, and erotic. Or (more truthfully) trying to protect myself.
Because I know of the immense power that lies within. I know of the ancient wisdom that my body holds. The codes that are deeply integrated into my DNA that has no biological home on earth.
I am afraid to access them.
When I was a child my mothers placed a protective charm on me. A protective charm to stay small; to stay safe.
And I know they meant well.
Both mothers feeling unworthy and not enough. Fearing (or knowing) that I was the same as a woman – no matter what side of the planet that I’m on.
They cast a protective charm to keep me safe. But really, it was a curse.
A curse to stay small. To stay imprisoned.
A curse of self-hatred to perpetuate the smallness.
They robbed me of my voice, my beauty, and power.
They taught me not to bind my feet but to sever my wings. An act of self mutilation to
stay safe…they say.
feel content…they say.
be okay with not being enough.
Because you are not enough, not enough, not enough.
And if you dared to take up space, you dared to be in danger. You were asking for it.
We say that men wound us, imprison us, and betray us. But for me, it was my mothers who cast the first stone.
In this lifetime. And many lifetimes back.
I come from a four-pronged lineage of voiceless, wingless women. I am the first to demand
To be heard, to be seen, to be enough.
Blurring lines between east and west. Blending the fierce protective masculine with the graceful mystic feminine. Learning to be the mother and father that I desire and require for myself and for my children.
I am the first
To reunite with my wings and my voice.
When I was 11-years-old I had my first period and I cried.
An ancient cry voiced by four lines of voiceless, wingless women of the past.
Culminating to a single point in time and space within the body that is everything and nothing
Of a woman on the rise.
For she is everything and nothing.