I come in all forms.

My broken beautiful self. The unmendable. The forever-in-disrepair.
The wild. The naughty. The lioness. The triumphant. The gatekeeper.
The comfort seeker. The homebody. The quiet keeper.

The crazy, the brave, the solo adventurer. The hair-down-to-her-tiny-waist tantra queen.
The little girl who misses her mum’s embrace & soothing words before bed.

I find so many faces in this body I call home. I can’t begin to name them all. They don’t need names. They’re all there, they’re all wonderful, and they’re all welcome – and accepted. Finally.

Finally.

That self acceptance and self love were hard earned lessons, ones that require continuous learning refreshers. It never stops. But the rewards;- oh, they keep giving. Inner peace, stability, home. Within me.

I don’t turn away from my tears – anymore. I let them flow. I let them flow courageously in tune with the seismic earthquakes that rock and fracture and rumble from deep within her core.

Every. Part. Of. Her. Deserves to be heard. Deserves a voice.

It is valid. She is valid. She is validated.

So I curiously lean into the pain, sometimes cautiously, sometimes in full force. I laugh when it deserves humour. But I let it be, I let it tell me what it needs to tell me. To uncover messages long lost or forgotten.

I listen. I listen intently to her. What does she need?

I’m learning to give her all of that – all that she needs. Without asking another, without taking from another. For I know, that if I cultivate this inner garden and enjoy each season within it, there will come along a curious playmate, a kaleidoscopic soul just like mine who, in one burst of explosive star-colliding thunderous energy, will unite with me in the garden, and make it ours.

I don’t need to wait. I can play in the meantime. This is my garden. And I am her.

(Photo credits – www.instagram.com/thebetterview/)