5.9
May 24, 2019

For the Women who Fought like Hell to Rise.

 

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A long-awaited celebration lurks in the balmy, evening breeze braided with sunlight. Do you feel it?

Maybe your story is like my story, reflected through the lake surface—our experiences, fears, joys, triumphs, and aches.

I like thinking of the web that connects us: the women who fought like hell to rise.

So here’s a piece of my heart, because even though I may not know you, I think you’re so brave.

And I wish these words to reach out like curls of neroli-scented smoke and stir you in the right ways.

I sit perched at my desk. Fresh, green leaves shimmer, illuminated in gold—and I’m dipped in liquid warmth. I inhale to smell the rich sweetness of the 6 p.m. spring breeze, savoring it with every ounce of my being.

How it speaks volumes and seduces me, licking the side of my face with a light rain-mist. I look up to the sky, then peer inside my heart. Deeply.

‘Cause lately, when I look in the mirror, I see me—in a different way.

I don’t see only brokenness and wounds.

I see the whole picture—the pain, the rising, my beauty, my soaring, my soul, my depth, my big heart.

I see lush blooms that shine like plump petals of purple wisteria in my backyard.

I see bright orange fire bursting through darkness and shame that was once as thick as night.

I see all of it.

All of the stories that swirl in my body: sparkling embers and big, lush flames of the sentences, mistakes, and experiences—both beautiful and terrible—that live vividly within me.

Here I am, revealed to myself.

I look into my own eyes—and I see power. Not just pain or powerlessness.

I’ve landed in a different place.

I love it.

I look around to take it in—the ivy growing up the side of my house, swaying blades of emerald grass, my hands smacking the keys with fire and love, the soft chair beneath me, sweet thoughts of my beloved man and dear friends, the peace in my heart.

All of it.

And then I dance.

I dance like never before, my feet smacking the earth with pure ecstasy and devotion.

I dance and soak in all the gems I’ve worked so hard for—

This joy.

My voice.

My wisdom.

My wholeness.

My heart.

My ignited soul, fueled with desire to expand and unfurl and adventure, forevermore.

A life that feels like me. Finally.

And I’m still growing—cracked spaces remain inside of me.

But the gifts of pain, of knowing and tasting the depths of my humanity and fragility—they have been so meaningful.

It’s those unexpected treasures we find when we have no choice but to fight.

So we fight.

And in truth, we did have a choice.

And we chose not to succumb to sucky circumstances or pain or fear.

We made it.

From surviving, barely getting by, exhausted, sad, disconnected, angry, hopeless, numb, suffering, and doubting that we had any worth at all—

To

Thriving.

To kissing the soft, puckered lips of contentment, knowing laughter, relaxation, seeing our immense strength, rejoicing in love, and all the expansion that happens along the way.

We’ve transformed so much. We’ve died a thousand times along the way.

And maybe the change is subtle at first, like the slow shading of a sunrise. But each new hue is so beautiful as it splashes upon the horizon.

The sun rises valiantly—and so do we.

Before we know it, it’s high noon and we’re bathed in fierce, radiant warmth and the oceanic expansiveness of our own being.

Now, we live so vibrantly.

And we must take time to celebrate every victory—that’s right—every single bud and bloom!

Every way we’ve set ourselves free. Every mask we’ve peeled away. Every way we’ve honored our Self. Everything we left behind and everything that stayed.

It’s a big deal.

Let us gather under the velvet night sky as we light it up with the roaring, unstoppable fires of our hearts

And twirl in the lush, jeweled gardens of our souls.

We made it.

We climbed out of trauma, voicelessness, victimhood, incredible difficulty, and immense pain.

We left toxic relationships, people, and places that felt so damn hard to leave behind.

We walked through the fires of hell. We searched epic caves of darkness. We traced the sharpest edges of our fears.

We did not back down—even when we wanted to. We kept fighting, even when we didn’t know how to hope or believe.

We climbed out of abuse, being told to be quiet, to not trust ourselves—

We decided to rise.

And still we trusted ourselves, in the face of it all.

So let’s dance. Let’s dance like never before, our feet smacking the ground with pure ecstasy and devotion.

Let’s dance til’ morning. Our hair will whip wildly as we delight in beads of glorious sweat sticking to our skin with broad, badass smiles beaming upon our satisfied faces.

Our victories are not small.

They are incredible, deep, and far-reaching.

They ripple out like hard-won magic and light the way for other hearts who are rising.

Let’s throw confetti made of stardust and the torn-up pages of all the people who said we couldn’t.

We did.

And we will keep going.

But right now,

Let’s soak in the sublime sweetness of our long-awaited celebration in the breeze braided with sunlight.

 

author: Sarah Harvey

Image: sarahlouisaharvey / Instagram

Image: Chris Phutully / Flickr

Editor: Julie Balsiger

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Julie Preston Schilling May 26, 2019 6:06pm

I love you Sarah Harvey! Please keep writing forever and ever and ever!

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Sarah Harvey

Sarah Harvey resides in the mysterious mountains of western North Carolina. Through the journey of healing her own trauma and pain, she has found power in poetry, art, and dance. She loves supporting people to step into their power, find their voices, and flourish. She believes in resilience. She believes that sometimes, our darkest days lead to the most unexpected, breathless joy. She currently offers life coaching sessions and is pursuing her Masters in Counseling. She feels passionate about supporting sensitive souls with a grounded, creative, and gentle approach.  Follow Sarah on Facebook and her website!