She always knew this day would come.

The day when she would embody herself completely.

The day when all the things other people thought of her and the cute, convenient little things they wanted her to be would blow away like brittle, red leaves in the crisp fall air—taking with them the old wounds.

And it’s not just death. It’s not just the wild breath of release.

It’s the space for something so much more.

Because she is fire.

The kind of fire that’s like water—sensitive, soft, empathic, and powerful exactly because of those things.

And her waters can bubble, they can gush and churn and heat up—they can shock and make sh*t happen.

But now—

Now, it’s all in the way she roots, closer to the ground.

No more hiding. No more quieting. No more muting that voice inside her that just knows. 

She glistens now, the way wildflowers do in the tender first light of the morning, right before the sun explodes into the sky. She listens now, to the truth that resides within.

She always knew this day would come.

The day when all the noisy definitions given to her by society—and all the scripted, hollow crap that women are supposed to be—would peel away.

She is left raw, naked, exposed—and an exquisite quiet, a deep tenderness permeates from the atmosphere, like the first flakes of falling snow.

It feels scary, yes. Maybe even stark or strange.

But there is wholeness.

Integration.

Power.

The delicious understanding that she doesn’t have to be anything in particular.

She can be herself—oh, yes—and that is enough.

It is vast, sweet, wild, beautiful, and strong. It is resilient. It is messy and complicated. And it is not the story read aloud to her about what she should be. It is not even written in the lines relayed to her about what an empowered woman looks like.

No.

She gets to write this book. She gets to pen the definitions that feel just right.

Because she is fire. The kind of fire that risks it all to be authentic, rather than a flimsy sliver of herself.

And it’s not just about rising—it’s about the thing she always avoided—

Rooting.

Now, it’s all about being her body—daring to fully inhabit the delightful flesh of her legs, breasts, arms, and the bowl of her pelvis. Oh, yes! Her skin rejoices.

She has come home. Really home. It was time.

A deep, resounding song echoes in her belly, the vibration spreading through the lusciousness of her entire body.

She sends her roots deep, deep into the molten, muddy center of the earth. And it feels so good.

And this day—it has a sparkle, a glisten mostly seen in the salty tears at the corners of her eyes. But more than anything, it is real.

It is not just the fluff made up in fairy tales.

‘Cause this day has come, not out of nowhere. It’s come because she’s worked hard for it, diving deep, facing all the darkness she needed to face for many years.

It comes in speaking up and standing her ground when it is so hard to do just that.

It comes in feeling deeply and knowing that is important.

It comes in trusting who she is meant to be.

Like a storm, it all grows in power and collects at sea as she does this raw, difficult work—as she chooses not to turn away from herself. As she keeps on keepin’ on, through the anger, the heartbreak, the sorrow, the fear—through it all.

And now, the sweet rewards of that courage drip down her chin, like a rich, exotic fruit.

Finally, she knows she can be.

Be here.

Be real.

Be tender.

Be sexy.

Be weird.

Be badass—not by stretching herself thin or doing too much or being everything to everyone—

But by being herself.

And that makes all the difference.

~