Lines In The Sand

There is a space inside of us. I’m sure it’s in all of us, but I can only speak for women. And I can only speak for wild women – women who rise, women who lead, women who cannot put up and shut up no matter how hard they try, women who everyone else thinks would never be taken advantage, aren’t scared and seem to have it all come so easy them but is not the truth, for the wildest ones go through hell trying to conform, fit in, be liked, belong – but they cannot.

And they go through deeper hell accepting this. Walking the dark roads, the back paths of loneliness, loss, being different, outcasted, unable to find anything that fits comfortably, no matter how hard she seeks it she cannot find it.

Wild ones. The witches. The holy bitches. The warriors. The free spirits. The wild souls. The ones who cannot be contained no matter much others try and no matter how much she tries herself.

She cannot make the call go away… the whispers of unhappiness, the knocks on the doors of meaningless, the loss, the frustration, the never ending sense for her that there is more than this.

She blends, for a time, she numbs for a while, fitting in with rounds and shots and shitty sex in bathrooms, on tables, in beds. She stares at herself a little too long in the mirror, those eyes are asking her something. She lingers a little too long in bed, heaving her tired body out into the day.

She laughs at the stupid jokes, goes along with the gossip folks, dies a little inside each time she sits and does meaningless work, as she scrolls through insta and news feed that she doesn’t give a fuck about.

And maybe it’s midlife, or maybe it’s trauma, or maybe it’s the deepest fucking pain that she thinks will surely consume her as she let go from her job, has a miscarriage, abortion, affair or is left behind, cheated on, used or abused… As she feels the pain of conforming for nothing. As she feels the sting of hiding herself and going along with only to realize no matter how much she changed herself, she would never belong…

Wild women are a rare breed and they have been endangered for a long long time. For the wild ones cannot be contained forever, controlled or manipulated for long. Something inside of her has known she was born for more, always has.

The world jaded her or she got lost in the shimmer and the glimmer thinking she could find her place there. Change and you can be our friend. Change and I will love you. Change and you will be pleasing and people will like you.

Check the boxes, that will work, I will be happy. Get the degrees, that will work, I will be happy. Get married, check. Have kids? Maybe a check or the lack of a check is the check. Get the job. Climb on the corporate ladder, on her knees if she must.

But one day it no longer matters as she begins to see, through the pain, that the breaking down of it all is just the way for the light to get in. And the light hurts a darkened soul, a shrivelled spirit. The light cascades on everything she has been and what she has not been.

She feels herself being ripped into pieces as if her very skin is pulled from her body.

And it is.

Spiritually. Metaphorically. Soul shattering, body baring, mind awakening – rip, rip, rip as she begins to see that she just became what they wanted her to be. It was easier. The lines were in the sand. They may as well have been cage bars with a padlock the size of the earth.

For they weighed on her heart as surely as a thousand pounds would.

The lines they drew for her, the conditions they placed on her. Give up your wild, give up your power, forget who you are, live the nightmare like everyone else, don’t see yourself in the greatness of who you are… don’t cross the lines, it’s not right. Not right for you.

What’s on the other side isn’t touchable for you, my dear. Every space, every place, every turn.

You’re not enough. You’re from the wrong place. Take up the wrong space. Wear the wrong clothes. Want the wrong things. Can’t fit. Can’t blend. You don’t get to come over her. You must stay there, in the chains where you belong.

And you think it’s you. She thinks it’s her. Not enough. Gross. Ugly. Stupid. Something wrong with me, her, she, you. There is only far she can go inside those lines. When she tries to cross them she can’t. She doesn’t understand, it must be her. Not good enough. Half assed, can’t do anything right, never enough, too much.

But she doesn’t see, not consciously, that the world has been weaving lines around her, cages and traps. Not because she isn’t good enough, but the totaly opposite but because she is powerful beyond measure. If she gets in her power, she is free. Free of the conditions, free of the lines, free of the trading of her soul, free of the seeking outside of herself.

And the wild woman is the most dangerous creature of all, for her spirit cannot be contained, she doesn’t settle, she doesn’t live in chaos, she doesn’t give up her power, she doesn’t follow the rules of man, for she lives in this world but she is not of this world.

She knows this. Has them in her heart. A fire in her belly, a wildness in her heart, a pull to the depths of her soul. She cannot be controlled.

A wild woman crosses lines and boundaries and she winks at challenges. She shirks the contraints placed on women.

She lives in that space.  That space inside her, where her truth, power, desire, divinity live, all blended into one warrior, one earth keeper, one goddess, one witch, one holy bitch.

She doesn’t live in drama and chaos. She doesn’t tear other down, she will not bow down to the demands of a world that tells her she must change who is she to fit in. She finds her truest power in that space. She knows who she is and why she is here in that space. She no longer seeks it in long drags on cigarettes, bad drinks, boring conversations or shitty sex.

She no longer pretend to calm waters, she no longer fakes it, she no longer shrinks behind the fake lines, or clips her wings or stays in the shadows so someone else can feel better.

She set fire, rocks boats, writes things she shouldn’t, she drinks whiskey in the woods, laughs too loud, squeals too much, talks about heavy shit and soul work and meaning of things. She plays in the mud, swears and does, well, what ever the fuck she wants.

That’s the space. That’s where wild women live. There is a knowing, a power, a depth that cannot be faked, cannot be bought. The light emanates out of her. The cracks let the light back out. She radiates truth, honesty, integrity and power.

She has this because she was brave enough to walk through the dark, to explore the depths of her shadow, to face herself, her limits and her conditions. When her feet the ground, it vibrates through the whole world.

And it awakens something in other wild women who have been sleeping too long. That’s how wild woman is found, inside, not outside. Her journey home is through herself, her shadows, her fear, her losses, her denial, her wounds, her pain.

It is only the bravest of women who become wild and free, when they answer the call, witness the cages they have lived in and do everything that can to shake loose all that isn’t soul.

Wild one, I see you, I honour you. I know deeply the pain you feel that has brought you to this place. I can promise you, stay on the path, take the darkest of roads, have teachers and mentors and helps who will hold the light for you, learn, grow, become relentless in the pursuit of yourself.

When you get there, I promise you sister, it’s more powerful than you can even imagine. It will be the first time you will belong in your life, and it will be yourself to whom you belong.

It is the deepest of feelings, the deepest grounding, the deepest peace and knowing when you reclaim the warrior, the wild one, that lives within.

She knows the way.

Find her.


Stay Wild my friends,




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