To become a goddess?

It doesn’t just happen in the sweet, easy moments that smell like honeysuckle and taste like angel’s songs, played with trumpets braided from grass and fresh sprigs of baby’s breath.

It happens in the sweat, the mud, the grit, the darkness, the gut-wrenching vulnerability, and the almost giving up.

It happens in the tears and fears and panic and the prayers that leave our lips at 3 a.m. in sobs of utter desperation.

It happens in the mistakes.

We give everything to the wrong people.

We give to the right ones, in the wrong ways.

We give nothing to our own hearts.

We forget to love our selves—we realize we never knew how to love our selves. 

We let others speak for us.

We forget the sound of our own voice.

We let lovers treat us like crap in exchange for what seems like safety.

We abandon the pull of our passions, our purpose, the soaring calls of our dreams—and give in, becoming dull, lifeless husks they said we should be.

We become ghosts of who we know we are, who we so badly need to expand into.

And it hurts like hell. It’s like wearing a skin that doesn’t, won’t, can’t fit.

But this struggle doesn’t define us, it’s just part of the process—the itching discomfort of donning a mask that will never suit us.

So we rip it off.

To become a goddess?

It takes all the courage we’ve got.

It happens in the hardship. The screaming, the howling, the tiny whispers of truth, the trying something new, in leaping the leaps we didn’t think we could take.

It happens in the standing up, the speaking up, the not taking sh*t, and the absurd beauty of learning to care about our own hearts.

It happens in risking everything to step into our power and be heard.

It happens in swaying our hips with crisp, spiraling sensuality, and re-claiming every ounce of our sexy, succulent, complicated, and deliciously wise, mysterious selves.

It happens in asking for what we want and knowing, unquestionably, what we deserve.

It happens in not being so nice, in knowing that real is always juicier than a veneer of fake plastic pleasantry.

It happens in feeling our feelings—pain, jealously, hurt, heartbreak, joy, anger, excitement—-yes, all of ’em. No exceptions.

To become a goddess?

It’s not pretty. It’s messy as f*ck. And there is no precious how-to—our soul holds the blueprint, our hearts have the map.

We may very well have to put everything on the line to become the masterpiece that swirls and whispers—and sometimes screams—inside us. But you know what? We will never, ever regret it.

So put it all on the line.

To become a goddess?

It’s a freakin’ bootcamp. It’s a dark night of the soul. It’s a shamanic initiation that leaves us howling on the edge of madness. It’s the ice-cold, bitter loneliness that almost eats us alive.

But then, in the midst of the thickest darkness—we find heaven. We taste the blissful ripples of our own soul.

We open to light.

We soften.

We exhale, remember the lively pulse of who we are—and oh, yes—we soften in the face of it all.

We see that the pain was medicine; we see that we are medicine.

This is our courage; it is our softness and our strength.

We hatch from the skin that never encapsulated us.

We burn like wildfire, lighting up the sky for miles near and far.

We drip like holy water, speaking the truth that no one wants to talk about, but everyone needs to hear.

We celebrate with laughter so loud and joyous it shakes the earth beneath our feet.

To become a goddess?

It is no cute, silly little thing.

It takes blood, guts, heart, soul, pure determination, and the willingness to f*ck up a thousand times.

It takes the willingness to break up, break down, and finally—oh, finally—break through in a sobbing moment of surrender on the bathroom floor.

It takes the willingness to taste God in the most terrifying moments—because those moments are portals to hidden ecstasy.

To become a goddess?

It is to become a warrior.

The best warriors are those brave enough to feel it all.

The best warriors are flawed and human and vulnerable as hell. The best warriors know pain, have tasted tears, and kissed darkness a thousand times. The best warriors have fallen to the pits of despair, but will never stay down.

The best warriors—are goddesses.

The ones who have been broken, but dance boldly in the flames of all the sh*t that didn’t work out.

The ones who burst up like a lotus flower—rising valiantly and more beautiful than ever—from the muddiest mud in spite of it all.

The ones who make art from the pain.

The ones who speak out even when we’re shaking.

For we are not just women, we are divinity in the female form.

We are fire. We are progress. We are the death of the old system. We are the breathless vibrance of Spring, the impossible way everything comes back to life.

We are important.

And our voices are meant to be heard.

We are the return to the earth, to magic, to all that is feminine and nurturing and wise.

Don’t think this means we aren’t fierce as hell…

It is exactly our softness that makes us so fierce, so feeling, so brave, so intuitive, so bold and soaked in truth.

We forgive when forgiveness seems impossible.

We choose love, when marinating in hate seems so much easier.

We choose freedom, when the obstacles are so big and crushing that freedom doesn’t even seem possible.

We rise.

We rise from from pain, from abuse, from trauma, from the depths of sorrow.

We rise from the shattered pieces of a life that never suited us.

We rise from pasts that are darker than midnight; we rise from nightmares and the flames of hell.

We shine so brightly, radiant now—because like a moonflower, we were forced to open to light in the darkness.

And we did.

We became the light.

We stand proud and tall and powerful now, unfurling one plush, fiery petal at a time.

We still shake sometimes, and that’s beautiful. But even the fear doesn’t stop us anymore.

We charge forward, words of potent truth leaving our trembling lips.

We soar higher, confident in all that we need to embody and create.

We feel deeper, knowing that we were never, ever meant to play small.

For we are here to serve.

To help. To heal. To be a beacon of dedicated light and set the world on fire.

But all of that beauty has to come from the thing we always circle back to—

To love ourselves.

Not just to say it. But to dive in, and do it. To love our darkness. The wide open, snarling mouth of our pain. To love our curvaceous thighs, our complexity, our sadness, and the ever-evolving poetry of who we are.

Above all else—

To be a goddess

Is to be gentle with ourselves.

To soften those tenacious thorns that lived for, so long, on the inside.

To breathe each breath knowing unquestionably, our worthiness.

Don’t give up when it’s dark, dear sister. And I know you never will.

You’re stronger than they ever knew you were.

Don’t ever stop feeling everything.

Don’t ever stop peeling away the bullsh*t of who the world told you to be, getting closer and closer to the pulsing, juicy core of who you really are.

Hold fast to your truth.

Your voice.

Your knowing.

The potent jewel of soul that swirls inside you.

Let all else fall away.

To become a goddess?

It’s to do the scariest thing in the world—

To be our selves.

And wake up each morning knowing that it is enough.

It was always enough.

It’s magic.

It burns, hot and wild, forever.

~

Author: Sarah Harvey
Image: Janice Marie Foote/Flickr
Editor: Lieselle Davidson
Copy Editor: Catherine Monkman
Social Editor: Yoli Ramazzina