Tag Archives: empowerment

Just FYI…

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Just FYI…

I. 

Am. 

Extraordinary. 

Even if the one who gives me butterflies doesn’t recognize it. I’m tired of doubting myself and trying to understand what about ME isn’t conforming to their standards. 

Every Jeremy.

Billy.

Misty.

Kyle.

Lisa.

Justin.

Sean.

All of them. 

The bosses. 

The fathers. 

The lovers. 

The potentials. 

The friends. 

Them. 

I am enough. In fact, I might just be too much. I’m not missing out on them. They are missing out on me. I’m tired of dulling my glimmer to keep from outshining them. I’m tired of feeling sheepish when they tell me I’m “intimidatingly smart.”

I’m tired of amazing connections being written off because one thing doesn’t immediately “spark” or maybe “someday” someone might want ______insert here_______. 

Fear of missing out is bullshit. Cowardice. 

I’m a lot, I get it.

I AM ALSO:

Clever. 

Witty.

Resourceful.

Creative.

Powerful.

Beautiful.

Kind.

Funny.

Compassionate. 

Strong. 

Driven.

Honest to a fault.

I’m good enough to do this.

And…

I’m smart enough to complete that. 

I am fucking EXTRAORDINARY. 

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Mercury Retrograde BE DAMNED I feel amazing.

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Mercury Retrograde BE DAMNED I feel amazing.

I have had quite the empowering and cathartic last couple of weeks chock full of epiphanies and cosmic 2x4s.

One, I shall not write into narrative for you voyeuristic vampires whom I love. It involves self growth and reflecting on past relationships.

But when it dawned on me, it went something like this:

Then, I read this on my FaceCrack wall:

A Wild Woman doesn’t want to be your Girly friend

Can you love me in the deep? In the dark? In the thick of it?

Can you love me when I drink from the wrong bottle and slip through the crack in the floorboard?

Can you love me when I’m bigger than you, when my presence blazes like the sun does, when it hurts to look directly at me?

Can you love me then too?

Can you love me under the starry sky, shaved and smooth, my skin like liquid moonlight?

Can you love me when I am howling and furry, standing on my haunches, my lower lip stained with the blood of my last kill?

When I call down the lightning, when the sidewalks are singed by the soles of my feet, can you still love me then?

What happens when I freeze the land, and cause the dirt to harden over all the pomegranate seeds we’ve planted?

Will you trust that Spring will return?

Will you still believe me when I tell you I will become a raging river, and spill myself upon your dreams and call them to the surface of your life?

Can you trust me, even though you cannot tame me?

Can you love me, even though I am all that you fear and admire?

Will you fear my shifting shape?

Does it frighten you, when my eyes flash like your camera does?

Do you fear they will capture your soul?

Are you afraid to step into me?

The meat-eating plants and flowers armed with poisonous darts are not in my jungle to stop you from coming. Not you.

So do not worry. They belong to me, and I have invited you here.

Stay to the path revealed in the moonlight and arrive safely to the hut of Baba Yaga: the wild old wise one… she will not lead you astray if you are pure of heart.

You cannot be with the wild one if you fear the rumbling of the ground, the roar of a cascading river, the startling clap of thunder in the sky.

If you want to be safe, go back to your tiny room — the night sky is not for you.

If you want to be torn apart, come in. Be broken open and devoured. Be set ablaze in my fire.

I will not leave you as you have come: well dressed, in finely-threaded sweaters that keep out the cold.

I will leave you naked and biting. Leave you clawing at the sheets. Leave you surrounded by owls and hawks and flowers that only bloom when no one is watching.

So, come to me, and be healed in the unbearable lightness and darkness of all that you are.

There is nothing in you that can scare me. Nothing in you I will not use to make you great.

A wild woman is not a girlfriend. She is a relationship with nature. She is the source of all your primal desires, and she is the wild whipping wind that uproots the poisonous corn stalks on your neatly tilled farm.

She will plant pear trees in the wake of your disaster.

She will see to it that you shall rise again.

She is the lover who restores you to your own wild nature.

(c) Alison Nappi 2015

The I saw this and wanted to go run. Dafuq, right?

This is all on top of a windfall at work, in my bank account, with my kids, with my love, with my friends, EVERYTHING. On top of the world and it is strange.

I’m all verklemmt~

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I’m all verklemmt~

Today one of the young girls that I work with said “You’re a feminist, huh?”

I thought for a moment, not sure what she was implying…so I replied to her, “Well, I guess that depends on what you think a feminist is…”

She looked really confused and asked if I wanted a “dictionary definition.”

I replied “No, just tell me what you think a feminist is before I answer that….”

She said, “well I just finished a women’s studies class and I am pretty sure you are a  feminist. I want to be a feminist like you.”

OMG.*fanning myself*

It was the best compliment I have ever gotten.

It validated me and what I do and think and feel so much.

It was just what my womanchild heart needed to hear.

She furthered our conversation by saying that she wanted to read the feminine mystique.

I told her I would bring her a copy.

Yay for young girls getting it early!