What's your worst nightmare?
Chocolate dripped strawberries, dripping honey - but have a shower before the train home
I met a version of my worst nightmare last week.
I chose - actively and purposefully to put myself in that situation. I prepared myself fully accepting whatever experience might arise.
Therefore, what happened next surprised me:
no jitters, no high alert nervous system, no shakes, no overthinking, Just… a regulated, normal day.
One by one, the small things began to rise - sub-par rise. I say this term to describe how deep it was, barely legible. But I noticed it (yay me!)
I was carrying the weight of my reactions and admiration for these women's characteristics with a deep irk of disgust that they had to share space with me.
A room where I couldn’t match their orgasmic, magical, playful, alive energy of being a woman & of life.
Integrating all of this tonight made me realise why the uncomfortable feelings of receiving compliments are most women’s cringe.
It’s being shamed as a woman (shape, size, style) by women.
The women we admired growing up. The ones around us. The ones we learned from - how to think, feel, and act about our bodies and what it means to be female.
Being female is dangerous.
My mum grew up in the era of Indi Amin - a time every woman feared for her life, Raped multiple times by multiple men, Death, or both. Nowhere to go Nowhere to choose Just acceptance that this is what life is. And me… I carry that. Amongst other things.
Today, I witnessed, quite literally, the opposite from the outside looking in.
Women supporting each other’s businesses. Creativity & Collaboration.
I saw what some might call an “older woman” fully embodied in her playfully seductive, wise empress energy, sitting on a vintage green chair being fed & squeezed pomegranate juice all over her.
I saw women voicing their creative visions Helping each other bring them to life, purely for the love of it.
I saw bodies I’ve only dreamed mine would look like. I was held between the legs of a tantrika-who I eye gazed with previously Her energy: Stable. Bold. Fearless.
I watched perky butts and boobs move through the room Witches hanging from a candlelit staircase I saw them connected: in friendship, in touch, in femininity, in love and softness.
Humans Having fun Moments being captured That’s all it was and it brought up so much for each of us. Being in the room was brave I wanted to be my version of brave But how can one do that, if they can’t first accept the step before— The step that, for that version of you, is brave?
Our ending circle made me feel physically sick. Strangled. Grimey like. I didn't land on my version of brave. I didn't face my fear. Why should I merit myself with tokens of awareness & realisations? I tried but I felt a fraud. Lies. How can they say anything kind, when all they’ve seen is the little girl? But... when the little one has never been seen before - how can one understand village community life? Being seen not for what you show But for who you are choosing to let go of - And become.