My engagement ring cracked last year and I got it repaired this week. My marriage is in a new chapter of a new book, one I'm actually excited to read. I have beautiful friends that are caring and loving and strong. I have almost finished another manuscript. And yet. And still. There is that part of me want that wants to take the most essential things I have inside and give them to someone I believe is more capable of handling them than me.
BUT WHY? Why am I so afraid of owning my power and wearing it like a beautiful gown to an extravagant ball? Why do I want to put on dirty rags instead? Why do I have the compulsion to squander, gamble, leak and throw away the power inside I need to grow? When I give away my power I am small and helpless, a victim. Walked on, and over. It's not pretty or cute or fun or good at all.
Giving away my power looks like crawling when I want to run. It looks like jealousy, pain, craving. I have given my power away to people unworthy of the good things they already had. If only our power was opaque, solid, the color of something so we could see it leave our bodies and know exactly from whom we needed to demand it back.
I'm in the process of reclaiming my power once again. Calling its name and opening the door and trusting it will come like an animal who knows its true home. I have done this 1000 times already. I wish I could say it will never ever happen again, but it’s clever and its disguises many.
I am more within my own body, my own life, my own story than I ever have been. Making anyone else in charge of how I feel about myself now is all the more painful when I have so much more to lose. I can't afford to be a supporting character in anyone else's tragedy or drama. I need every ounce of energy I have to claim the super bad ass heroine role I have waiting for me, that's always been waiting for me, front and center in my own body, my own life.