There are many women whose spirits I house in the fortress of my flesh, blood and bone.
There is the grounded one—her feet steady like the earth.
Rivers run through her veins giving her a powerful softness. Her eyes hold you in their embrace. Her skin is folded like the mountains lining the horizon and she walks taller than the oldest redwood tree.
She holds you in accountability. She knows her worth without needing to think about it, for it lives in the layers of her skin, as it has for all of time.
There is the confident one—making grandiose plans, packing suitcases, diving head first and stepping her whole body into the arena before it makes sense.
She submits and shares her art and will tell you of all the books she plans to write, the work she will bring forth into this world. She speaks clearly, loudly from her belly.
Integrity has made a home in the space between each of her vertebrae, giving her height that makes those who lie in the dark and those afraid of their dreams, appear small.
There is the small one—the one who feels she is not enough.
She slouches her shoulders to take up as little room as possible. Her voice shakes. She looks away from your eyes, avoiding the truth. Avoiding the mirror of another human heart. Avoiding herself.
Her deepest fear is owning her light. Her deepest fear is receiving everything she desires.
There is the brave one—who feels afraid and does what needs to be done or said to live in alignment with her self anyway.
She speaks her truth even when her voice trembles. She will tell you her story again and again, bringing the darkest parts of herself to light.
She cries openly, and often. She lives with her heart wide open.
There is the insecure one—crossing her arms over her breasts, she wears baggy clothing and prefers never to be the focus of the gazes in a room.
She is ashamed of the body she was given, for the standards she is measured up against see it as wrong. She is terrified because she knows that this standard can only survive if it has a home in her own belief system.
She is silent, living behind closed doors.
There is the fierce one—she spits truth into the fire of other people’s lack of accountability.
You can f*ck her, but you can’t f*ck with her. She dares men to show up and love her. She walks away if they don’t.
She eats worthiness for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and washes it down with grace.
I invite all of these women to have a home in this skin, in this life.
I will not do them the disservice of trying to sever what I deem good from bad. These women are welcome to walk alongside me. These are the women I provide a home for in my heart.
I love them, for they are all me.
Author: Annabelle Blythe
Image: Courtesy of author.
Editor: Nicole Cameron
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