The Woman I Am

Last year, at this time, I could see the end of my relationship clear on the horizon. On the surface, I didn’t know how I would survive the pain, how I would start my life again from scratch. In the marrow of my bones, in the fibre of the universe inside me, I knew I would be okay. The legacy of the outrageously resilient women who are my ancestors whispered to me that I would rise from this in power and grace. It was their silent solace, and the tangible love I have for my children that kept me moving forward. Kept me.

And now, one year later, here I am. There are mornings (like this one) when I feel tired and tender. Like my heart is too big. Like my desire to love still leads me to dynamics where I’ll never receive the love I need. There are days when I tell myself that a loving partnership just isn’t in the cards for me. That all anyone will really value is the sexual currency that I trade like I’m on Wall Street. That being a wife means becoming boring and codependent. There are days when these lies feel like the truth.

I am mother, nurturer, healer of emotional pain. I am filled with fire, with a deep, raging passion. I am unapologetic in my love of sex, of bodies connecting.

I will dry your tears, fill your belly and feed your soul, all while seeing that my own oxygen mask is fully secured. My dreams will be relentlessly pursued while I bolster yours, I will eat this life, and I will happily feed you every morsel you dare to taste.

This is how I want to share physical/romantic space. I don’t want to just fill your need for good sex. I don’t want to pick up where someone else leaves off. I don’t want any part of your codependent mess. I don’t want to be claimed, tamed or named by you. I want to be me, wholly and fully and have you arrive, and see me wholly, and adore me as much as I do. 

Because I do. I love this woman I am. Love her ‘s’ shaped spine, her round belly, her alabaster skin, her tiny breasts, her epic ass. I love her ridiculously romantic heart. How she looks for beauty in every corner. How she wants to teach her daughters to be unafraid of their own glory. How she wants to teach her son to fill his heart with the Goddess and love each person he encounters with that light radiating from him. 

This woman I am wants to heal the toxic masculine in every lover I take to my bed. I want to empower the women in my life by reflecting back to them their divine power. I want to heal people’s hearts, ignite their sacred sexual fire, help them fill their lives with passion and help them find permission to explore the essence of why we humans are here.


I want to tell stories, create worlds, give people an escape (in story, in my bed), and help people believe in magic. 

I want to love, to be love.

And with each day that passes on this journey, I feel more ready to receive love. It’s coming, as sure and full of wonder as the spring.

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