Driving along in the darkness, music as my friend, insights and feelings flood my awareness as gems. Sunroof open to the night sky with sounds of nature and the breeze kicking up the smell of just purchased favorite flowers of Stargazer Lily to cleanse my mama heart. August restlessness of tantrums, messy rooms, and summer boredom call me to balance deeper and often. Words want to play with me and yearn to be heard, so I listen.

In my twenties, I wanted to escape my being and life at times. I could never trust my body, as it gained weight, lost weight and it still didn’t look good enough and anxiety imprisoned me at times. I’d picture actresses in Hollywood and supermoms in my own town to hold the secrets. I wanted to be them. Their children so well-behaved and husbands of GQ style, their magazine lifestyles with homes of perfection. Always crying at the right times, anger level of a soft tone and strength, appropriateness on par, never doing anything to be ashamed of. I longed to be always right, play that role, never doubting my okayness. I felt I was losing my marbles at the same time as gathering a bag of marbles, marbles of mistakes.

I was also looking for riches. But really I didn’t know the riches would come to be my words. That letting my writer girl out was the ticket to all I’d ever wanted. Those women I wanted to know what it was like to be them, the easy street was a facade I realized much later, but it looked so good. To be accepted, validated, and approved of, which now sounds dreadful. To live anyone else’s ideal would suck the living juice out of my soul stuff. Wild is more valueable to me, authenticity being golden. That’s a brilliance and greatness that even if you’re alone in your knowing or opinion, you feel whole. That fills you up like no person outside you can. A fullness. More would to come, of course, and still unfolds like a dance, a sensual dance with my spirit.

My thirties have graced me with some wisdom. I didn’t have to convince anyone is my worth when I actually knew my own. Too much and too little was perfectly me and fiercely just right. I still got hurt, most often myself, but only on occasion. And what would occur was that goddess fire would rise up and sweep us back up. We’d never stay down. We took that sensitivity, that vulnerability and realized that made us strong, like a badass of realness and mushyness. What freedom. Letting yourself be you. Soaring at thirty seven even when I need a rest, or it looks as if I’m still, my wings are thick and light at the same time. My truth sustains me. Thank you. My prayer for always.