Change is lonely. People revolt at the new ground on which you stand — they liked you lower. You were easier when you were weaker. You were more comfortable to be around when you were less sure of yourself. When you didn’t know your worth you were cheaper, and that was preferred. They reject or abandon you and all your wounds come up. But eventually you’re so tired of chasing people out the door. You can’t wear their constricting costumes anymore. You’re so tired of clutching and clinging and shrinking and swallowing what you want to say, so you just stay with yourself, alone in the room of you, where you wish someone had sat with you as a little girl. Now you sit with you, the little girl of you’s head in your lap, stroking her hair as her tears soak your thighs. “Where did they go, why did they go.” You sigh. “I know, it’s ok, I’m here. They’re afraid. Of you, of themselves, of the world, of dying, of the truth buried deep in them that might shatter their own world. They’re afraid of you leaving them, so they leave you first. Sometimes people have to vilify you to leave you, that’s just what people do. You must learn to stay with yourself, no matter what, who goes, who comes, how long they’ll stay, what they think, what they say.” Her cries lessen, her breathing moves from shuddering to deep sips, you pick back up bell hooks and remember that as alone as you feel, you’re not. There are at least one woman’s words that are a light in the dark for you today. They are exactly what you’ve been feeling, all along, permanently imprinted on a page. Living proof you’re not alone. And one day, you’ll do that for another woman. And she’ll do that for another. And maybe that’s all there is, right now, today at least, which of course, is all there is, too.

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The very spirit of self mothering, a crucial pillar of shadow work and a loving life skill. Thank you Sarah, your words are a gift

Art by Hyatt Moore