Let her rrrrroar,
let her blow off some steam, vent, throw a punch or juice a river of green lemonade, but whatever you do, don’t turn your back on her.
The part of you that clamors for more life.
I don’t mean a child.
Or more children.
I mean more life.
The first D,
the one that ends up with defeat is the D of DENIAL. The D of figuring it out, of mind-f****ing yourself into good-girl positive thinker.
The D of pre-empting defeat.
The other D
is the D of Desire.
Not the right or wrong DESIRE, just DESIRE.
Raw, uncensored, uncivilized, vehement, robust, DESIRE with a capitol D.
It points the way. It’s the only way to tap into the ever-renewable energy source accessible to all fertilehearted humans.
The D of Desire returns us sooner or later, if we follow it with the kind escort of our saner Self, to the Life we once intended to live. The Life we had left behind on some rest stop on a side road. The Life that some part of us refuses to give up on.
That D of Denial it’s a frightened, orphaned friend whose convoluted logic says:
“If I take IT away from myself, deny what I want, (whatever the IT of the moment happens to be) no one else, not even God, can take it away from me.
The D of Denial is a false friend.
But we already know that. Now we just have to keep each other good company because exposing our raw desiring Selves is only doable with compassionate companions. None of us can do it alone.
So that we can be born into women who know how spectacularly fertile they are. Women who know their own worth—whether someone else does or does not—agree with them.
What does “more life” look like to you?
(Hint – let yourself rehearse it right here in five words or a thousand)