#the original is like 'i am the beauty and fragility of the universe. the serenity and danger and loneliness of the unfamiliar. bask in it'

[haveyouplayedthisgame]

No Man's Sky

[rjhpandapaws]

I Will Always Find You

Prologue: Keeper of Wisdom and Revolution: With You Lies the Power of Change

Translations at the end!

He was the first of them that The Beginning had made. He was he keeper of Wisdom and Revolution. Bringer of knowledge and war. He could change the course of humanity if he so wished. His brothers had come shortly after; Curiosity, Balance, and Loss. The were tasked with protecting humanity and left with a warning not to get to close. “Do not get attached.” The Beginning had warned, “They live short lives, but many times. They will not soothe your loneliness.” Curiosity had been, well, curious. He had always been fascinated by humanity. He wanted a closer look and into interact with them. His closer presence had brought with it the need to chase the unknown to the farthest horizon. Humans began to band together into tribes and make their way out into the world. The age of wonder had begun. Curiosity was the first of them to fall in love. A sturdy human with vibrant blue eyes that held wonder for the world. He ventured out often, and Curiosity would wait for him anticipating his return and tales of his adventures. One day he ventured off and did not return. Curiosity had been devastated. The first of them to learn the fragility of human life and be introduced to the fickle mistress that was death. The reassurance that he would see his love again didn’t come across as the comfort Wisdom had intended it to be. He left that hornets nest alone for the time being and tried to comfort Curiosity as best he could. He didn’t realize he would be the next of them to fall.

The age of wonder had passed and the age of learning was ushered in. It was Wisdom’s turn to leave his mark on the world. To give humans a way to keep the things they had learned from Curiosity, to foster it. That they may thrive on their own while the keeper of their wonder nursed his wounds. Wisdom was the first of them to be worshipped. He was called Jalib Almaerifa. He was not given a form as he had not shown himself, but he was prayed to and believed in. He preferred to give his knowledge through dreams and signs. He loved seeing what humans made of his gifts. He would learn from Curiosity’s mistake and watch from a distance. He would not fall for a human, it was not worth the pain it would cause. He did keep his distance for a time. Made his mark as a kind but distant deity. Though it seemed he would follow Curiosity into the pit of spikes that was love. There was a human that asked for his guidance almost regularly. He called himself Saymun and had the desire to learn everything there was to know. He wanted to learn to make the lives of those around him easier. Wisdom sympathized with that and took his time putting together dreams and signs for Saymun. He didn’t want to risk their meanings being misinterpreted. He wanted to see this human bring change to the world. He believed Saymun capable of great things.

He shortened his distance some. He would visit Saymun in his dreams even when he wasn’t called on. He gave himself a form close to human so that if Saymun came across him in his dreams he would not be frightened. He began to change the world around him, it was slow going and he likely wouldn’t see the fruits of his labor in his lifetime, but things were changing. He translated the knowledge he had been given and did his best to share it with those around him. A voice lost to the crowd. Wisdom wished to see more done. He wanted to see Saymun achieve his goals. So he placed himself among them in a human form. His eyes were the only give away to his divine origins. One blue marking the serenity of knowledge and the other green to signify the growth brought through revolution. He searched for Saymun, and when he found him, he felt something blossom in his chest. Saymun was beautiful, fair wavy hair and sky colored eyes that held gifted knowledge and the hunger to learn more. When he spoke Wisdom found himself pulled further in by the lull of his voice. He had wound up following Curiosity step for step and falling into the same trap. He fell for a human that had accepted his gifts and used them well. He often spoke in Saymun’s dreams so it shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did when the human’s dream from had approached him one night. Gaining knowledge always lead to the seeking of more. This meeting had been a long time coming. Saymun looked at his almost human form with a mix of awe and recognition. He reached out toward Wisdom tentatively.

“You look familiar.” Saymun eventually said, his ever-present curiosity hanging on his every word, “Have we met?” “In a way.” Wisdom said with a polite nod, “Your people have often called me Jalib Almaerifa. Though my name in your language would be Hikma.” He watched Saymun go through the stages of recognition, first of the name he had been given, then to the one he called himself. “Hikma, like the man from the streets. He has eyes like yours. They are very unique.” Wisdom changed his shape once again, taking his human form and gave Saymun a kind smile, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you Saymun. I was planning to introduce myself during your waking hours, but this works just as well.” “You gave me this knowledge. Why would you listen to me speak it?” He asked and tipped his head to emphasize his question. “I have the knowledge yes, but I am not able to use it, I am only able to give it away.” He explained, “Seeing you use what I have given you to better those around you instead of just yourself intrigues me.” “Don’t get your hopes up.” Saymun said flatly as he looked away from Wisdom, “No one listens to me.” “They do. You just can’t see it yet.” He reassured and reached out to give his human companion’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “It is almost time for you to wake. Do not falter in your endeavors. I will be by your side even if you are unable to see me.”

That earned him a smile from Saymun. Wisdom left him to his dream and once more watched from a distance. He was looking forward to the start of the day, to seeing Saymun again. He knew this was a risk, he was getting attached and that would only hurt in the end. Seeing the way Saymun lit up when he had an audience was more than worth it in his eyes. He and Saymun grew closer after that. Wisdom found himself staying confined to his human form for days at a time. It was easier for Saymun to rest this way and Wisdom could be closer to him like this. They drifted closer together and Wisdom found himself tucked in beside Saymun more nights than not. Until he just didn’t leave. Wisdom spent most of his nights running his fingers through Saymun’s hair and telling him the secrets of the world. Knowledge that he normally wouldn’t trust a human with, but Saymun was different. He could be a force of change, he could be the one to bring humans into their next great age. Moreover it was that Wisdom loved him and wanted to show him in as many ways as possible. He had about five amazing years with Simon before things had begun to change. Saymun began to have intense bouts of pain, both physical and otherwise, followed by waves of extreme exhaustion. It got bad enough that he eventually stopped trying to teach, but instead he wrote down the things he had learned that were safe to share. He hoped to create a library of books and share what he had come to learn that way.

Saymun and Wisdom worked on the library together until Saymun’s memory began to fail him. Wisdom did his best to help him as best he could, but he hadn’t dealt with anything like this before. He didn’t know what to do to make it better, to make it easier. To help Saymun be well again. The most he could do was make him comfortable. It didn’t feel like enough, not for all that Saymun had given him. He still held Saymun at night. Even when Saymun’s memory had stolen Wisdom from him. The pleasant happiness that this nightly ritual had once brought was overshadowed by the growing possibility of him losing Saymun while the human slept. They were little more than strangers now in Saymun’s eyes and that had hurt Wisdom in ways he hadn’t known were possible. He still wouldn’t give the years he had gotten with Saymun up for anything. The last night he spent with Saymun went much like many of the others in recent years. There was no air of finality to it. Wisdom hadn’t known this would be the last night he would get to have with Saymun. If had, he wouldn’t have left so much unsaid. He would have looked into those once wise and lively eyes one last time. He would have made sure Saymun knew how much he had been loved. Had he only known, he would have done so much more. Only, he hadn’t known, and all he could do was plead for more time as the man he loved slipped away in silence.

Wisdom blamed himself. Perhaps if he had not shared the secrets held by the universe with Saymun he would have been granted more time. If he had kept his distance as he had intended maybe Saymun would have had a longer life. Had he used his head as he was made to do rather than his heart. If he had loved from a distance. If he had told Saymun he had loved him one more time. There were so many ifs and they haunted him. Left him feeling both enraged and hollow. He pulled away from humanity, left them on their own for some time. They would not use his gifts the way Saymun had. It was only when they had nearly destroyed themselves that he returned. He kept his distance and gave his gifts much more sparingly. Humans lived short lives and lived them many times. He missed Saymun dearly, there would be no replacing him. All Wisdom could do was wait to find him again in another life and time. Perhaps he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

-

Names and translations. Names and Meanings used for Markus Wisdom. Hikma = Wisdom Jalib Almaerifa = Bringer of Knowledge

Names and Meanings used for Simon Saymun = Simon

[the-marvel-imagines-blog]

Madness | Chpt. 10

Requests are Open

Chapter Title: “Belonging Nowhere”

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Word Count: 3,815

Warnings: ???

Name Pronunciations: Hjalmar: “He-all-mar” | Aaldir: “All-deer” | Ephinea: “Eh-fin-ee-uh”

Summary: Eva’s departure is felt throughout the whole of Asgard. When the God of Thunder discovers her absence, Heimdall shows how willing he is to live up to the promise he made. Aaldir offers fatherly advice to the worried Prince.

A/N: This chapter, as you may notice, is shorter than the previous one. I’m sorry for my short hiatus. With work, college, and life all happening at the same time, I’m losing track of the time. To those of you who waited patiently, reaching out to check on me, YOU are what makes the hard days seem easier. Once again, you’re all so amazing for even reading this in the first place. I love all of you so, so, so much <3 -Ellie

Tagged: @teddyboobear @alledeglyfunny @xletmetaste-yoursmilex @itsknife2meetu @mynameisyara (anyone who wants to be tagged can message me and ask. It’s not a problem at all)

*Thor’s POV*

I wasted no time racing to the Bifrost at the end of the Rainbow Bridge to confront Heimdall. As soon as I read the note that Aaldir gave to me, I went into a rage. Eva was one of the most brilliant women I had ever met, and I didn’t understand how she could have been so ignorant to believe that she could be needed anywhere other than right here. She was continuing her reckless behavior that I thought we had gotten past after New York. As soon as I entered the Bifrost, Heimdall turned to face me, “you noticed her absence, just as everyone else did,” he noted, reminding me that she was just as much a part of Asgard as the air we all breathed. Her absence left a hole in the hearts of every Asgardian, young and old.

“Why did she leave?” I asked, my voice deep and urgent, “why did you send her to Midgard without telling me?” I asked, feeling like I was being spread too thin. Between ongoing problems with my father, my conflict over Loki, the newest prisoner, and the looming threat of Cul and his armies, I was at my wits end. I needed some explanation as to why my most trusted friend and advisor ran off to Midgard.

Heimdall gazed back out at the universe, calm as ever. His face had always been hard as stone. It was impossible for me to see any change in emotion, though Eva always claimed she could sense what he was feeling. I never believed her, thinking it was her way of gloating or bragging. Still, I couldn’t read him in that moment or any moment that had come before, “I am not at liberty to say,” he answered nonchalantly. His voice always captivated Eva, and I loved watching her as she listened to him speak. He continued before my mind could carry me away with thoughts of her, “she told me to keep the reason as to her sudden departure a secret between the two of us, and I intend to keep it that way,” he added, loyal as ever to her.

“Send me down there at once,” I demanded, tired of the games she always played. While I was sure this was no such thing, it was frustrating that she disappeared at random without giving us any answers at all. I didn’t intend to keep tabs on her at all times, but with what happened between her and Ezra, I was afraid that she was going to go back down a destructive path. She had encountered a threat that was much greater than we were prepared for, Loki’s fate was still hanging in the balance, and she was lost in all of it. She was hanging on by a thread, and I was afraid that she would reach her breaking point soon enough. Feeling as if my demand had fallen on deaf ears, I repeated myself, “send me down to Midgard at once!” I ordered, straightening my shoulders.

Heimdall shook his head, “no,” he answered simply.

My eyes widened as he disobeyed my blatant order, but I knew that even if my father had ordered him to do so, if he made a promise to Eva, he would keep it. I growled, “I demand it!”

He glanced over at me, amber eyes boring into my own, and I could finally see what Eva always claimed she could see. He was loyal to those he cared for, and no matter how close we were, he understood Eva better than anyone else, and she understood him with the same intensity and clarity. While Eva belonged here, she had always been on the outside, just like Heimdall. They were both wanderers, warriors, and keepers of the stars. I saw his love for her in that moment, “that’s unfortunate because I will not grant you passage to Midgard,” he stated before gazing back out at the fast universe, “I promised Lady Eva that I would not allow you to follow her. I gave her my word that she would not be trailed unless her life was in grave danger, and I would never dream of going back on my word to her,” he explained, grasping the handle of his sword tightly.

“I am the Prince of Asgard!” I reminded him, my voice nearly causing the entire Bifrost to shake.

His head snapped around, and our eyes met once more, “and she is the Princess!” he boomed, my voice having paled in comparison to his. The anger melted away from his features just as quickly as it had shown itself, but he could not take the words back, no matter how hard he tried. Of course, Eva wasn’t of the royal family, so she wasn’t a princess by blood, nor was she by marriage, since she had never married Loki or I. In the eyes of the Asgardian people, though, Eva was a princess, and they loved her like a queen. She was the lifeblood of our world, and the people saw that as time passed. Perhaps Heimdall wasn’t above those emotions. He sighed, “I gave her my word, and I will not break it. You often forget that she is far stronger and far more capable than anyone has ever given her credit for. She has fought off entire armies on her own. Lady Eva has always been full of surprises, and this is no different,” he reminded me of the countless times I watched the beautiful warrior on the battlefield. She fought as if she was dancing, every movement fluid and flowing right into the next.

I huffed, “if anything changes, alert me at once,” I demanded, hating the fact that I had to leave her safety in the hands of anyone else. The last time I trusted someone with her life, I almost lost her. While she wasn’t mine, nor would she ever be, she was still my very best friend and most trusted confidante. I wouldn’t know what to do with my life if I didn’t have her.

“That goes double for me,” that familiar voice sounded from behind me. As I turned around, I saw the God of Mercy standing directly behind me. I wasn’t sure how much of my argument with Heimdall he had heard, but it caused a certain level of shame within me to think that I was doubting her abilities even more than her own father, a man who-after all he had lost-would have been more protective of her now more than ever before. His eyes were warm and welcoming as they had always been, but there was a sorrow within them that had never gone away since Loki’s turn, since his fall, since her. With the recent loss of Hjalmar and with Eva leaving Asgard, he looked more put together than I had expected. Still, his dark hair was disheveled just enough to give me the answers to the questions I wouldn’t dare ask him, no matter how merciful I knew he would be.

He motioned for me to join in, to walk back across the bridge with him. A look of peace and serenity fell across his features, much like what happened with Eva when she knew I needed her to be strong for me. I would never ask for her, but she could always feel it. There were countless times when she would show up out of the blue just to talk or sit with me because she could feel my troubled mind. She didn’t limit this behavior to just members of the royal family or those she was closest to, either. Eva would often roam the streets of Asgard, even as a young girl, and listen for the cries of a child, the broken heart of a father who lost his son in battle, the widowed mother who was raising her children alone, the sounds of silence where she knew she was needed, and without accepting any payment in return, she would sit with each of them. Any man, woman, or child was under her care, and they loved her all the more for her acts of selflessness.

I wasn’t certain if she was born with that heart, or if she inherited pieces of it from the man beside me. As Aaldir and I walked along the Rainbow Bridge, I had one of the most selfish fleeting thoughts in my life. I wished she would leave others to their own devices. It wasn’t a wish that would benefit her, as I was well aware that the times she was helpless to lift people up when they fell, a piece of her died. It was a wish made purely out of my selfish desire to protect her, to shelter her. A part of me couldn’t see her as the warrior she was, as the strong leader I knew she could be. I would always see her as this fragile little girl that the world wanted to break, but she was strong from the beginning, far stronger than I could ever even hope to be.

“I know that feeling,” Aaldir noted, cutting off my train of thought.

I furrowed my eyebrows and glanced over at him, curious as to what he was talking about, “what do you mean?” I asked as our eyes met. Eva and him looked so different, which was to be expected since they were not related by blood. However, they looked so similar at the same time, skin that was kissed by the sun, innocent and pained eyes under full brows, the most perfect facial structure I had ever seen, as if they had been crafted by angels. Eva always said that it was because they shared the same life energy, that all things were connected, but she had the strongest connection to him because he chose her, raised her, taught her, and loved her.

He smirked, “you would rather her be miserable and safe with you than fulfilled and in potential danger. I know that feeling all too well,” he stated, taking me by surprise. He had always praised and admired her independence, so I didn’t think he could possibly understand my dilemma. He chuckled, “I taught her how to fight, and she soon became so powerful that there was nothing left for me to teach her. I didn’t teach her how to fight with the hope that she would seek war and blood but with the hope that she would fight for what she believed in, what she loved, and she has done that. I taught her how to love by loving her unconditionally, and she soon loved everything around her with that unconditional love but only one person even more than that-your brother. I didn’t teach her how to love with the hope that she would have her heart broken but with the hope that she wouldn’t be afraid to love, even if it meant having her heart broken,” he explained, his voice softening as his eyes glossed over with tears that I had never seen him allow to fall.

“I taught her everything I knew about life, love, war, death, pain, and suffering. It wasn’t with the hope that she would run off and put her life at risk, but it was with the hope that if she chose to do that, she was as prepared as possible,” he explained, blinking away the tears that always rose to his eyes when he talked about Eva. She was the light of his life, his pride and joy, his everything. He cleared his throat, “so, trust me when I tell you that I know how it feels to want to shelter her. I’m her father; I know all about that. However, the one thing that makes it easier is that I know there will come a day when I can’t be beside her, when I die a warrior’s death, and from that moment on, she will need to be her own guiding light, her own protector, her own hero. And if my time with her is limited to this lifetime, I want to see her smile as often as possible because that’s what gives my life meaning, to see that my children are happy,” he explained, silence finally falling between us again.

After thinking on his words for a moment, I spoke, “but how can you be so comfortable when she leaves for Midgard without saying a word about it to anyone? How can you be so calm when she could be in danger, when there is a possibility that she may not come home?” I asked, my mind racing with thoughts of her possible demise. Ever since the battle with Ezra, she had been acting strange, almost as if she was trying to hide something from me. I didn’t know what it was or why she was acting so distant, and I just wanted answers. I glanced over at Aaldir again, “how can you be so comfortable when she’s putting her life at risk?”

“Because it’s not my place to make decisions in her life. She’s my daughter, yes, but she’s her own young woman. I make my own decisions that impact my life, so what gives me the right to make her decisions for her?” he asked, challenging my train of thought, “the only time I’ve seen her happier than when she was with your brother was when she felt she had done right by herself. She needed to be on Midgard to do what she felt was right. She followed her heart, and it led her there. Who are we to discourage that?”

I shook my head, “people who care about her safety and security,” I answered, not understanding how he could be so blind to her self-destructive behavior, “I know that you raised warriors, and I owe all my skills to you as well. I just feel like Eva is throwing that all away to chase a fantasy. She has always put the lives of others before her own. If she can subdue an opponent instead of killing them, she does. If she can talk someone down instead of hurting them, she takes that route. It has been a dangerous path for her to tread. The greatest warriors live to fight another day, and she seems like she’s on a mission to get herself killed,” I rambled, feeling out of breath.

Aaldir let the silence fall between us as he thought of what to say in response to my argument. To question Eva and her decisions was a dangerous game to play, especially when I was talking to her father, the man who trusted her judgement more than he trusted anyone else, “the greatest warriors are ones who fight for others without need for recognition. They give up their comfort and peace to ensure it in the lives of others. They don’t need parades or words of praise or even love and admiration from the people they’re protecting. They are not loyal to a person or to a throne, but they are loyal to their moral code...to life. They’re the warriors who would forfeit their lives for the ones they fight for and the ones they fight beside. My son was one of those warriors, and my daughter is the greatest warrior I know,” he explained, wanting to make me understand just how honorable a warrior she was, “she jumped in front of a sword for you and-”

I cut him off, “and nearly got herself killed in the process!” I reminded him.

“It was to protect you!” he exclaimed, his voice growing louder as he saw that I was growing more and more frustrated at the situation we found ourselves in.

I was powerless to do anything to bring her back home, and I felt like I was being left out of her decisions. It hadn’t been like she included me much in the decision-making process in the first place, but to be completely oblivious to what was going on upset me, “she’s acting erratically and defiantly, and her trip to Midgard proves that,” I stated, my anger continuing to well up within me.

He smiled to himself, his eyes telling a story of a time long ago, a time I was a stranger to, “her trip to Midgard proves only one thing, and that’s the simple fact that she is willing to do anything and everything to protect the people she loves most. Tony Stark is among those people whether you like it or not. And you know what's at stake for her on Midgard,” he reminded me as we finally reached the palace. I knew exactly what he was talking about, as I had met her on many occasions. I knew that Eva’s soul was torn between here and Midgard, and I always felt my heart aching for her. She wanted to be close to those she loved here but also those she loved on Midgard. At the mere mention of her, I became quiet once more, my anger and frustration around the situation falling away.

In my silence, Aaldir continued, “Eva has always been a free spirit, flowing like the waves and going wherever the summer breeze took her,” he reminisced, thinking of the girl who turned him into something more than just a warrior. Where he had once been one of Asgard’s greatest warriors, nothing more and nothing less, he was a loving father before anything else. She taught him just as much as he taught her, and I saw it in him every day. He changed little by little every moment he spent with her, “nothing and no one could tie her down, and that’s what Loki loved most about her. As a child, he learned to be calculating in order to protect himself from the heartache and rejection he felt every single day. Eva showed him that his life didn’t have to be like that. She was his taste of freedom, and the time he spent with her was time away from the rules and discipline. She was his guiding light in the darkness, the brightest star in his sky. He loved her wild beauty. She set him free,” he explained as we reached the doors to my mother’s chambers, “I think you have something to give her,” he reminded me, gesturing to the door before taking his leave.

I stood outside the door, watching him walk away, a man who placed every ounce of faith in Eva, and I could only hope for his sake that she would make it home safely. Once he had turned the corner and disappeared from my sight, I turned back to the tall door, which opened before I even had the opportunity to knock. My mother stepped to the side, gesturing for me to enter the room. As I stepped around her, I sensed her muscles tighten, “what’s wrong?” she asked, concern washing over her features as she closed the door.

I sighed, “Eva left,” I stated, trying to ease her into the news. I didn’t want to spring it all on her at once, so I wanted to break it up into smaller pieces for her to digest easier.

She nodded her head, “she left for Midgard. I sensed it,” she replied, knowing that her prediction was true. Just as Eva shared an awe inspiring connection with my brother, she shared a similar one with my mother, though it couldn’t possibly be as strong as the one she shared with Loki. My silence allowed her the time to continue, “you’re upset by this. Why?”

“She doesn’t belong there,” I answered, “she belongs in Asgard, fighting the battles we are fighting instead of running off to Midgard every chance she gets!”

“And what battles are we fighting at the moment?” she asked, challenging me, “yes, Ezra came here and brought threats, but we are prepared for his forces. You speak as if Eva visits Midgard every day, but she hasn’t been back there since…” her voice trailed off as tears filled her eyes. It hadn’t been the day she left for Loki, but the time Eva went back the day after we arrived in Midgard with my brother. We all knew that when Eva came home from the battle in New York, she was different, and when she left the following day, we weren’t sure if she would come back at all. She did, but she was never the same. There was always an emptiness in her eyes where there was once happiness. Even after Loki fell, she still maintained some level of joy for the sake of those around her. After that day, though, she had truly lost everything.

I frowned at the thought of what must’ve triggered Eva to go back. She had sworn that no force could demand her presence other than her safety. All I could think of was that she was hurt, which made me want to follow Eva to Midgard even more. I sighed, “I’m just worried. What if something terrible is happening, and I can’t help?” I asked, thinking of all the possibilities and driving myself mad in the process.

Her warm hand rested against the side of my face, cupping my cheek, “sometimes all you can do in situations like this is have faith. Believe in Eva like you always have. You were never blind to her strength when you were younger, so don’t doubt her now. It’s important to feel fear, but you cannot let it dictate the choices you make. Eva learned that long ago, long before she should have. For your own peace of mind, try not to think about her. Feel her presence in your heart, but do not let the thoughts of her safety cloud your mind,” she suggested, knowing that the task she gave me would be difficult.

I nodded my head, trusting her to point me in the right direction. While I would never have my mother’s calm demeanor-a tranquility in even the most dire situations-I possessed a piece of that. I believed it was a mother’s gift, one I could never master fully. Eva was best at it, even in combat. In the silence between us, I remembered my true reason for visiting my mother. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded note intended for Loki, knowing that my mother had always gone against the wishes of my father to visit him in the dungeons. She would find a way to get the note to him, especially if it was one from Eva, “she wrote one for Loki and I before she left. This one is his,” I explained, handing it over to her. She nodded her head, knowing what I was asking her to do without saying it, “and...tell him I love him, too.”

[soleannadarkblade]

Ramblings of a Death Knight Pandaria Edition

(( This entry contains spoilers to the World of Warcraft Expansion: Mists of Pandaria, if you are OK with this and or have completed the story line, please continue. If not, I apologize for any inconvenience. ))

 As I stare out, over the once beautiful Vale of Eternal blossoms, I look over the scar that sends shivers over my cold frozen spine… even though I am a master of the Unholy arts… I keep my body in a permanently frozen state to prevent decay… well, that’s one of the ways I keep decay at bay. That’s another topic for another day, should you find this note… if you’re the same one who has found my previous entries…. Good on you. You’re an excellent detective and a stalker… I jest, I jest, don’t take a serious look if you have one. Anyways, my time in Pandaria was one of my own accord. The Call of the Highlord had not been sung out, us Ebon Blades were still free to do as we wish, as long as we acted within our best interest and brought honor to our cause… whatever that whole stick was. But this scar… the Sha Scar… so similar to the dead scar within Quel’Thalas… It brings me back to the day of my death… Too many people making too many problems… always a land of confusion, but that’s saying so much for a land that feeds off the emotions of its inhabitants… the Sha, had laid dormant for decades, centuries even… then the alliance and the horde land… and within a matter of seconds, their hatred unleashed an ancient evil.

My time in Pandaria, it has taught me peace and serenity. The monks I trained with, have taught me ways to control my bloodlust, my urge to kill. Funny I know, thinking of an Ebon Blade Knight that has no desire to truly kill unless it is required. Sorry to burst your fragile bubble you seemed to hold you bigot. Not all of us are creatures of unrelenting rage and darkness… not anymore anyways; some have learned coping mechanisms to assist with that. Though, I admit that I’m not perfect, I resort to type because I can’t help it. My preference is to talk a problem out at first instead of throwing my fist into someone’s face. Though I am prone to do that at times, as I said before, I’m not perfect. The monks of Xuen, otherwise known as the White Tiger took me in after I had slaughtered a group of Yaungol that threatened a small little village of Grummels within Kun’Lai Summit… funny creatures those Grummels, ‘Come, Shop, Browse, Smell.’ They are rather cute in an odd way. Though the monks had to subdue me with some old hand to hand technique, I’m not sure exactly what they did but my mind immediately went blank and I was overwhelmed with a sense of blackness so fast that I just, well, blacked out. I awoke within the temple to monks overseeing me and making sure I was ‘living’.

Those poor Pandaren, I don’t think they expected an immediate fight for I had thought I was captured and held captive by Alliance Pandaren… I fought with and killed about 4 of them until the tiger Xuen appeared and explained I was not held captive, but being treated as a guest. It was then that I felt something I hadn’t felt in a while, regret. I had killed four of my hosts without thought, all because of my innate desire to destroy and cause pain… those poor children who would never see their mothers or fathers again… all because of the rage… It was then that the tiger spoke, told me that power without thought is not power, just a hindrance. His words struck a chord with me. He was right, those who have power and act without thought or consideration are nothing more than just a fool, they put others at risk just for the sake of their own position in the status quo… Just like a particular Orc that caused this destruction because of his lust for power… damn that Garrosh… ruining such a beautiful continent.

Anyways, I spent time training with the monks, spent time being subdued and tied down most of the training, but eventually I began to understand. Rage and Anger… it’s more of a hindrance than what I originally thought of compassion and empathy. Anger blinds an individual, leading them into a rage that nothing can truly subdue. True strength, lies in that of unity and understanding, for a wolf that hunts alone is usually the first to die. After coming to that realization, I asked the Headmaster of the temple where I could continue my journey of ‘enlightenment’ I was hooked… the peace I felt while meditating, sparring with other monks was serene… it made me feel as if I was alive again. I was then pointed to the temple of the Jade Serpent Yu’lon within the Jade Forest. There, I continued my meditation and learning, listening to the wisdom of the serpent’s monks. I spent many a week there, just learning more about myself, digging up memories of the past and dismissing them for the time being, the courage to face my mistakes would await me within the temple of the red crane, Chi’ji. My time with the Jade Serpents monks had taught me that using my head to think situations threw rather than rush head long into battle without a plan, for that I am eternally grateful. Thanks to them, I have discovered ways to increase the potency of my own diseases and even figured out how to increase my own amount of runic energy within my body, even if it is by a bit, it’s still more than I could before.

After the time spent with Yu’lons monks, I made my journey to the Red Cranes temple within Krasarang  wilds, there I spent the time meditating and facing my inner fear, the lust and desire to kill, maim, and utterly annihilate any creature that stood in my way, the fear of becoming a mindless scourge that wanders the world hoping for the release of death to end my suffering. The cranes monks… they taught me to use the fear as a driver, one I had already known, but had reaffirmed my situation. The training I had been undergoing through the other two temples were to be used in conjunction with my willpower, never to lose hope, always believe in my own strength and will. The Crane is wise, but his wisdom pales in comparison to the Serpent… and for that, I am glad. Two all-seeing creatures at once is what leads to conflict, but the celestials seem to know and respect one another’s place. My time with the Cranes monks was as I said mostly spent as reassurance that I could control myself, and taught me that once again something my daughter Aliline has taught me that darkness will show you the light. After I felt satisfied with my training with the Crane, I wandered to the temple of Niuzao, the Black Ox.

While with the monks of the Black Ox, I learned more about myself there than any other temple with my desire to protect those I care about, and my home… wherever home was at the time. With the temple under constant siege from the Mantid, I volunteered my blade many a time to assist the monks and even the Shado-Pan. They feared me at first, for my rage almost got the better of me until I remembered my training… Deep breaths, calm and collected mind, the hope of a better day, always calmed my mind, and settled my hatred and rage for those that would dare strike down innocents. The monks taught me that the will to fight and stand up for what I believe in wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, just something that wasn’t an excuse to get over zealous on. Many days I spent fighting the Mantid until heroes of both alliance and horde broke into their precious little home and destroyed their queen, ending the assault. I had since then thanked the monks of the temple, and the Ox himself for letting me be a guest within their home before I journeyed to one last area that I had heard so much about within my travels. The half hill market within the valley of the four winds.

It was there that I had befriended and entire family of Pandaren that would teach me to cook and farm for my own food, something I found greatly amusing and enjoyable… even took a love for fishing while I was there for I spent many a time with the anglers in Krasarang wilds, trading fish from the Valley for seafood to help assist with our feasts we would prepare… My time within Pandaria, it was one of hardship and joy for me. A time I will never truly forget, for they reminded me of who I was. I am Soleanna Lightblade… Nothing dark about my soul, even though I am cursed to walk the path of the damned like many other of my brethren within the Knights of the Ebon Blade, though I will not trade my path for anything else within this world or universe. I am Soleanna Darkblade, Former Matriarch of House Lightblade, Former Commander of the Ebon Blade, member of the Ashen Verdict. I have nothing to be ashamed of. I am a mother, and I have lived a blessed life while alive, and even in death for I have found a company of misfits that I adore and will meet my final death to protect. The Caravan of Curiosities, is my home. Those who threaten my home, will meet blade and a swift end, those who ally with us, I will protect them until my end is met. None shall destroy those I hold dear, not while I exist within this world. This is all for now, until whoever finds this comes across yet another one of my entries.

 Until then, Suffer well-

Soleanna Darkblade, former matriarch of house Lightblade. Knight of Acherus, Ebon Ravager.

[almajonesnjna]

Dear Self, I Love You.

I recently gave a client the assignment that she had to rave about herself.

This is something I do in my workshops as well– I force beautiful, wonderful women to endure the horrendous torture that is standing up in front of a group and bragging about herself honestly, until the timer is up.

This exercise might sound kind of fun, but I assure you it brings up some really interesting stuff. It’s incredibly uncomfortable, as a woman, to break the unspoken law that we must be humble and modest.

I once watched a woman fight such an extraordinary inner battle as she stood there sweating and crying, that if I hadn’t given her the assignment, I might have thought she was trying to will herself to transform into a werewolf.

This inner battle is exactly why I assign it.

The person doing the bragging often learns a lot about how powerfully she has bought into certain social guidelines, and it opens an important discussion on what it would look like to really “own” your strengths, gifts, power, and beauty.

But something even more interesting often happens to the observers.

Watching a woman brag about herself is kind of shocking. It’s startling, and disorienting. We are experientially blind to the experience of watching a woman truly own her greatness– it has a way of making your brain go WAIT WHAT’S HAPPENING NOW?!

That’s why I want to share the following guest-post, written by a client.

This woman took my assignment (rave about yourself unapologetically) and turned it into a beautiful blog post, and as I read it I felt the familiar tingles in my brain.

This kind of self-celebration by a woman is powerful, because it’s so rare. I want you to read her work (I’m posting it below exactly as she wrote it) and see what comes up for you.

Does it make you uncomfortable? Inspired? Brain-glitchy?

Why?

If you feel so inspired, I want to hear from you, too. Will you rave about yourself in a video or written post?

Will you celebrate the shit out of yourself, just to see how it feels?

If so, please tag me in it so I can see, on Instagram or Facebook.

Without further ado, here is my second-ever guest post, shared with permission by Kate. Her original post can be found on her brand new blog: Kewe Life, here.

I’M GOING TO A RAVE.

Have we met? If not, nice to meet you. I’m pretty awesome. Not in a boastful or cocky way, but in a subtle, confident kind of way. Whether we know each other or not, sit back, relax, and settle in. Because I’m about to throw my subtlety to the wind in a radical exclamation of my love for myself.

Have you secretly admired someone but were never quite able to muster the courage to tell that person what you thought? Ever realize that person you were secretly admiring was yourself? In a long overdue acknowledgement of my awesomeness, I invite you to celebrate me with me as I finally send my lifelong crush a love letter.

And so, let the rave begin.

Dear Self,  

You’re a woman. An awesome woman. A powerful woman. A strong woman. A brave woman. A devoted woman. A curious woman. An affectionate woman. A kind woman. A caring woman.

You impress me every day with your bravery. Seriously, that shit is in-fucking-spiring. You wake up, get out of bed (most days), brush your teeth (most days, hah), then you go out into the world, and you show up, fully. Day in and day out. There you are. Standing, waiting, ready to work. To work on yourself, to work to connect with your soul, to work to sort through all the dark, messy clutter to make peace with yourself. You do all the work. 

You’re organized as fuck. Honestly, sometimes it’s concerning. But mostly it’s amazing. 

You want to help others. You seek out ways to. You are drawn to the desire to effect change. To lend a hand. Or an ear. Or a shoulder. Or whatever you can manage to share. 

You’re starting to learn boundaries. Boundaries to help yourself flourish, not boundaries to tame your desires. You’re learning the power of “no”. Not in a defiant way, but in a way that is caring of your own needs.

You say “thank you”, more often than not, now when someone compliments you. You don’t shy away from the light of your life. You walk into it, you welcome it, you seek that light. It wakes you up.

Superficial, you are not. Depth is your power. Depth of self, depth of connection, depth of commitment.  

Your ass is amazing. Truly. It’s a work of art. A creative expression of your strength. Powerful, ready to work.  

Your smile is incredible. Your eyes are beautiful. Your laugh is warm. Your giggle is endearing. Your wit is intoxicating.   

You are strong. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. You do not sacrifice your kindness for your strength. You are cognizant of your rough edges and you look to buff them when you think it’s necessary. Because you care deeply about other people. About their feelings, their hopes, dreams, wishes, about their whole beings. You are willing to get hurt a little (or, sometimes, a lot) in the quest for connection. Because without connection, what is there? 

You stand really fucking tall. You are confident. You are funny. You are an amazing woman. You are generous. You are charismatic. You are goofy. You are secretly a great dancer, with enviable rhythm but also sometimes two left feet. Please share your dancing with the Universe; I’m sure it would love to see more of it. 

You are accepting. You are gifted. You are smart. You are inquisitive. You are headstrong. You are adventurous. You are talented. You are ballsy. You are sarcastic. You are interested. 

You lean in. You open the doors to the dark places. You walk boldly into the face of fear and shame and guilt and those big, scary emotions and you ask them to come out into the light. You see your demons as your muses. You seek to see the good in people, in the world, in life.  

You are beautiful. You are sexy. You are curvy and bendy and soft. You are hard and tough and gritty. You were made to do more. To bring joy. To share your experiences. To offer guidance. To offer support. To embrace life’s challenges as gifts.  

You are all I ever need you to be. You are everything you were meant to be. 

You have a voice. It’s big. Bold. Beautiful. Courageous. Inspiring. Funny.  

You’re an awesome aunt. Aunt Tatie, to be exact. You give, whatever you can, whenever you can.  

You are a writer. Your words were meant to be shared. Your voice, meant to be heard. The sharing of your words liberates your soul, eases your angst, soothes your heart and mind. Your writing is for you. 

You’re succeeding in a male-dominated world. Some might even say you’re thriving. You’ve been promoted, rewarded, fought over. You make decisions for yourself.  

You cook. You grill. You bake. You broil. You blend. You chop. You build. You demolish. You garden (meh). You clean. You vacuum. You polish. You launder. You iron. You steam. You fold. You straighten. You refresh. You are curious. You tend to whatever it is your heart wants.

You’re willing to suffer in order to find your own happiness. Your willing to suffer for others. You’re willing to suffer for peace. Because suffering is temporary in the name of peace. Peace is subjective. You choose peace for yourself.

You’re on a path to self-identity, self-confidence, self-definition that will lead to amazing things. You’re making your own identity. Arriving at it through hard work and a shitload of help.  

You’re humble. You ask for help when you need it. You raise your hand when you don’t understand. You seek clarity when you’re confused. 

You overthink things. That’s okay. Doing so has developed in you an awareness of human emotions and experiences that allows you to uniquely connect with others. You’re okay if those other people don’t want to connect. 

You’re not ready yet to share yourself with someone else. You’re not yet whole enough to fully let someone else in. You’re strong as fuck for putting your own needs first. You are not alone. Do you hear me? You are not alone. I am here. We are enough. For now and for always. We. Are. Enough. 

You’re trusting. Eventually. Until that point, you’re protective and that’s an admirable mechanism of self-care.

When you couldn’t find the words, you baked. You baked dozens and dozens of cookies. And somehow, your love was what people remember from those dark days when we lost a loved one too soon. You saved people with your kindness, with your caring, with your generosity. 

You are awesome. Your calluses and blisters and scars and bruises and stretch marks and cellulite and saggy skin and veins and freckles and beauty marks and blemishes and skin tags and hair and torn cuticles and dry skin and squishiness and tautness and muscles and fat and all the things that make a woman’s body, they are the fabric of you, they weave together so beautifully, they tell the history of your very amazing body. The history of your very amazing body that once weighed 192lbs. The history of your very amazing body that once weighed 142lbs. The history of your very amazing body that now weighs somewhere in between.

The history of your very amazing body that has withstood your hatred, your restriction, your loathing, your attempts at sabotage, your bingeing, your embarrassment, your shame, your fear, your downright disdain for this body you’ve been given. That history is history.

We now have a loving relationship where cellulite is sexy (say what?!), where stretch marks are womanly, where bruises and scrapes and blisters are reminders that you’re fragile, where calluses are reminders that you’re adaptive. Where squishiness is a reminder that you’re fucking human, where torn cuticles are reminders that manicures aren’t miracles, where muscles are a reminder that the work is never done.

You apologize. Because you’re strong like that.

You respect your body. You value serenity.  

You’re adventurous. You try new stuff. You’re not afraid to fail. You are willing to change. You’re ready to adapt. You’re pretty fucking awesome. You’re resilient. Like the waves that keep on crashing, you keep on showing up, methodically, religiously, consistently. 

With all the love, 

Me

P.S. #thanksbuddy

The post Dear Self, I Love You. appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

http://ift.tt/2fbEGZv

[albertcaldwellne]

Dear Self, I Love You.

I recently gave a client the assignment that she had to rave about herself.

This is something I do in my workshops as well– I force beautiful, wonderful women to endure the horrendous torture that is standing up in front of a group and bragging about herself honestly, until the timer is up.

This exercise might sound kind of fun, but I assure you it brings up some really interesting stuff. It’s incredibly uncomfortable, as a woman, to break the unspoken law that we must be humble and modest.

I once watched a woman fight such an extraordinary inner battle as she stood there sweating and crying, that if I hadn’t given her the assignment, I might have thought she was trying to will herself to transform into a werewolf.

This inner battle is exactly why I assign it.

The person doing the bragging often learns a lot about how powerfully she has bought into certain social guidelines, and it opens an important discussion on what it would look like to really “own” your strengths, gifts, power, and beauty.

But something even more interesting often happens to the observers.

Watching a woman brag about herself is kind of shocking. It’s startling, and disorienting. We are experientially blind to the experience of watching a woman truly own her greatness– it has a way of making your brain go WAIT WHAT’S HAPPENING NOW?!

That’s why I want to share the following guest-post, written by a client.

This woman took my assignment (rave about yourself unapologetically) and turned it into a beautiful blog post, and as I read it I felt the familiar tingles in my brain.

This kind of self-celebration by a woman is powerful, because it’s so rare. I want you to read her work (I’m posting it below exactly as she wrote it) and see what comes up for you.

Does it make you uncomfortable? Inspired? Brain-glitchy?

Why?

If you feel so inspired, I want to hear from you, too. Will you rave about yourself in a video or written post?

Will you celebrate the shit out of yourself, just to see how it feels?

If so, please tag me in it so I can see, on Instagram or Facebook.

Without further ado, here is my second-ever guest post, shared with permission by Kate. Her original post can be found on her brand new blog: Kewe Life, here.

I’M GOING TO A RAVE.

Have we met? If not, nice to meet you. I’m pretty awesome. Not in a boastful or cocky way, but in a subtle, confident kind of way. Whether we know each other or not, sit back, relax, and settle in. Because I’m about to throw my subtlety to the wind in a radical exclamation of my love for myself.

Have you secretly admired someone but were never quite able to muster the courage to tell that person what you thought? Ever realize that person you were secretly admiring was yourself? In a long overdue acknowledgement of my awesomeness, I invite you to celebrate me with me as I finally send my lifelong crush a love letter.

And so, let the rave begin.

Dear Self,  

You’re a woman. An awesome woman. A powerful woman. A strong woman. A brave woman. A devoted woman. A curious woman. An affectionate woman. A kind woman. A caring woman.

You impress me every day with your bravery. Seriously, that shit is in-fucking-spiring. You wake up, get out of bed (most days), brush your teeth (most days, hah), then you go out into the world, and you show up, fully. Day in and day out. There you are. Standing, waiting, ready to work. To work on yourself, to work to connect with your soul, to work to sort through all the dark, messy clutter to make peace with yourself. You do all the work. 

You’re organized as fuck. Honestly, sometimes it’s concerning. But mostly it’s amazing. 

You want to help others. You seek out ways to. You are drawn to the desire to effect change. To lend a hand. Or an ear. Or a shoulder. Or whatever you can manage to share. 

You’re starting to learn boundaries. Boundaries to help yourself flourish, not boundaries to tame your desires. You’re learning the power of “no”. Not in a defiant way, but in a way that is caring of your own needs.

You say “thank you”, more often than not, now when someone compliments you. You don’t shy away from the light of your life. You walk into it, you welcome it, you seek that light. It wakes you up.

Superficial, you are not. Depth is your power. Depth of self, depth of connection, depth of commitment.  

Your ass is amazing. Truly. It’s a work of art. A creative expression of your strength. Powerful, ready to work.  

Your smile is incredible. Your eyes are beautiful. Your laugh is warm. Your giggle is endearing. Your wit is intoxicating.   

You are strong. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. You do not sacrifice your kindness for your strength. You are cognizant of your rough edges and you look to buff them when you think it’s necessary. Because you care deeply about other people. About their feelings, their hopes, dreams, wishes, about their whole beings. You are willing to get hurt a little (or, sometimes, a lot) in the quest for connection. Because without connection, what is there? 

You stand really fucking tall. You are confident. You are funny. You are an amazing woman. You are generous. You are charismatic. You are goofy. You are secretly a great dancer, with enviable rhythm but also sometimes two left feet. Please share your dancing with the Universe; I’m sure it would love to see more of it. 

You are accepting. You are gifted. You are smart. You are inquisitive. You are headstrong. You are adventurous. You are talented. You are ballsy. You are sarcastic. You are interested. 

You lean in. You open the doors to the dark places. You walk boldly into the face of fear and shame and guilt and those big, scary emotions and you ask them to come out into the light. You see your demons as your muses. You seek to see the good in people, in the world, in life.  

You are beautiful. You are sexy. You are curvy and bendy and soft. You are hard and tough and gritty. You were made to do more. To bring joy. To share your experiences. To offer guidance. To offer support. To embrace life’s challenges as gifts.  

You are all I ever need you to be. You are everything you were meant to be. 

You have a voice. It’s big. Bold. Beautiful. Courageous. Inspiring. Funny.  

You’re an awesome aunt. Aunt Tatie, to be exact. You give, whatever you can, whenever you can.  

You are a writer. Your words were meant to be shared. Your voice, meant to be heard. The sharing of your words liberates your soul, eases your angst, soothes your heart and mind. Your writing is for you. 

You’re succeeding in a male-dominated world. Some might even say you’re thriving. You’ve been promoted, rewarded, fought over. You make decisions for yourself.  

You cook. You grill. You bake. You broil. You blend. You chop. You build. You demolish. You garden (meh). You clean. You vacuum. You polish. You launder. You iron. You steam. You fold. You straighten. You refresh. You are curious. You tend to whatever it is your heart wants.

You’re willing to suffer in order to find your own happiness. Your willing to suffer for others. You’re willing to suffer for peace. Because suffering is temporary in the name of peace. Peace is subjective. You choose peace for yourself.

You’re on a path to self-identity, self-confidence, self-definition that will lead to amazing things. You’re making your own identity. Arriving at it through hard work and a shitload of help.  

You’re humble. You ask for help when you need it. You raise your hand when you don’t understand. You seek clarity when you’re confused. 

You overthink things. That’s okay. Doing so has developed in you an awareness of human emotions and experiences that allows you to uniquely connect with others. You’re okay if those other people don’t want to connect. 

You’re not ready yet to share yourself with someone else. You’re not yet whole enough to fully let someone else in. You’re strong as fuck for putting your own needs first. You are not alone. Do you hear me? You are not alone. I am here. We are enough. For now and for always. We. Are. Enough. 

You’re trusting. Eventually. Until that point, you’re protective and that’s an admirable mechanism of self-care.

When you couldn’t find the words, you baked. You baked dozens and dozens of cookies. And somehow, your love was what people remember from those dark days when we lost a loved one too soon. You saved people with your kindness, with your caring, with your generosity. 

You are awesome. Your calluses and blisters and scars and bruises and stretch marks and cellulite and saggy skin and veins and freckles and beauty marks and blemishes and skin tags and hair and torn cuticles and dry skin and squishiness and tautness and muscles and fat and all the things that make a woman’s body, they are the fabric of you, they weave together so beautifully, they tell the history of your very amazing body. The history of your very amazing body that once weighed 192lbs. The history of your very amazing body that once weighed 142lbs. The history of your very amazing body that now weighs somewhere in between.

The history of your very amazing body that has withstood your hatred, your restriction, your loathing, your attempts at sabotage, your bingeing, your embarrassment, your shame, your fear, your downright disdain for this body you’ve been given. That history is history.

We now have a loving relationship where cellulite is sexy (say what?!), where stretch marks are womanly, where bruises and scrapes and blisters are reminders that you’re fragile, where calluses are reminders that you’re adaptive. Where squishiness is a reminder that you’re fucking human, where torn cuticles are reminders that manicures aren’t miracles, where muscles are a reminder that the work is never done.

You apologize. Because you’re strong like that.

You respect your body. You value serenity.  

You’re adventurous. You try new stuff. You’re not afraid to fail. You are willing to change. You’re ready to adapt. You’re pretty fucking awesome. You’re resilient. Like the waves that keep on crashing, you keep on showing up, methodically, religiously, consistently. 

With all the love, 

Me

P.S. #thanksbuddy

The post Dear Self, I Love You. appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

http://ift.tt/2fbEGZv

[neilmillerne]

Dear Self, I Love You.

I recently gave a client the assignment that she had to rave about herself.

This is something I do in my workshops as well– I force beautiful, wonderful women to endure the horrendous torture that is standing up in front of a group and bragging about herself honestly, until the timer is up.

This exercise might sound kind of fun, but I assure you it brings up some really interesting stuff. It’s incredibly uncomfortable, as a woman, to break the unspoken law that we must be humble and modest.

I once watched a woman fight such an extraordinary inner battle as she stood there sweating and crying, that if I hadn’t given her the assignment, I might have thought she was trying to will herself to transform into a werewolf.

This inner battle is exactly why I assign it.

The person doing the bragging often learns a lot about how powerfully she has bought into certain social guidelines, and it opens an important discussion on what it would look like to really “own” your strengths, gifts, power, and beauty.

But something even more interesting often happens to the observers.

Watching a woman brag about herself is kind of shocking. It’s startling, and disorienting. We are experientially blind to the experience of watching a woman truly own her greatness– it has a way of making your brain go WAIT WHAT’S HAPPENING NOW?!

That’s why I want to share the following guest-post, written by a client.

This woman took my assignment (rave about yourself unapologetically) and turned it into a beautiful blog post, and as I read it I felt the familiar tingles in my brain.

This kind of self-celebration by a woman is powerful, because it’s so rare. I want you to read her work (I’m posting it below exactly as she wrote it) and see what comes up for you.

Does it make you uncomfortable? Inspired? Brain-glitchy?

Why?

If you feel so inspired, I want to hear from you, too. Will you rave about yourself in a video or written post?

Will you celebrate the shit out of yourself, just to see how it feels?

If so, please tag me in it so I can see, on Instagram or Facebook.

Without further ado, here is my second-ever guest post, shared with permission by Kate. Her original post can be found on her brand new blog: Kewe Life, here.

I’M GOING TO A RAVE.

Have we met? If not, nice to meet you. I’m pretty awesome. Not in a boastful or cocky way, but in a subtle, confident kind of way. Whether we know each other or not, sit back, relax, and settle in. Because I’m about to throw my subtlety to the wind in a radical exclamation of my love for myself.

Have you secretly admired someone but were never quite able to muster the courage to tell that person what you thought? Ever realize that person you were secretly admiring was yourself? In a long overdue acknowledgement of my awesomeness, I invite you to celebrate me with me as I finally send my lifelong crush a love letter.

And so, let the rave begin.

Dear Self,  

You’re a woman. An awesome woman. A powerful woman. A strong woman. A brave woman. A devoted woman. A curious woman. An affectionate woman. A kind woman. A caring woman.

You impress me every day with your bravery. Seriously, that shit is in-fucking-spiring. You wake up, get out of bed (most days), brush your teeth (most days, hah), then you go out into the world, and you show up, fully. Day in and day out. There you are. Standing, waiting, ready to work. To work on yourself, to work to connect with your soul, to work to sort through all the dark, messy clutter to make peace with yourself. You do all the work. 

You’re organized as fuck. Honestly, sometimes it’s concerning. But mostly it’s amazing. 

You want to help others. You seek out ways to. You are drawn to the desire to effect change. To lend a hand. Or an ear. Or a shoulder. Or whatever you can manage to share. 

You’re starting to learn boundaries. Boundaries to help yourself flourish, not boundaries to tame your desires. You’re learning the power of “no”. Not in a defiant way, but in a way that is caring of your own needs.

You say “thank you”, more often than not, now when someone compliments you. You don’t shy away from the light of your life. You walk into it, you welcome it, you seek that light. It wakes you up.

Superficial, you are not. Depth is your power. Depth of self, depth of connection, depth of commitment.  

Your ass is amazing. Truly. It’s a work of art. A creative expression of your strength. Powerful, ready to work.  

Your smile is incredible. Your eyes are beautiful. Your laugh is warm. Your giggle is endearing. Your wit is intoxicating.   

You are strong. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. You do not sacrifice your kindness for your strength. You are cognizant of your rough edges and you look to buff them when you think it’s necessary. Because you care deeply about other people. About their feelings, their hopes, dreams, wishes, about their whole beings. You are willing to get hurt a little (or, sometimes, a lot) in the quest for connection. Because without connection, what is there? 

You stand really fucking tall. You are confident. You are funny. You are an amazing woman. You are generous. You are charismatic. You are goofy. You are secretly a great dancer, with enviable rhythm but also sometimes two left feet. Please share your dancing with the Universe; I’m sure it would love to see more of it. 

You are accepting. You are gifted. You are smart. You are inquisitive. You are headstrong. You are adventurous. You are talented. You are ballsy. You are sarcastic. You are interested. 

You lean in. You open the doors to the dark places. You walk boldly into the face of fear and shame and guilt and those big, scary emotions and you ask them to come out into the light. You see your demons as your muses. You seek to see the good in people, in the world, in life.  

You are beautiful. You are sexy. You are curvy and bendy and soft. You are hard and tough and gritty. You were made to do more. To bring joy. To share your experiences. To offer guidance. To offer support. To embrace life’s challenges as gifts.  

You are all I ever need you to be. You are everything you were meant to be. 

You have a voice. It’s big. Bold. Beautiful. Courageous. Inspiring. Funny.  

You’re an awesome aunt. Aunt Tatie, to be exact. You give, whatever you can, whenever you can.  

You are a writer. Your words were meant to be shared. Your voice, meant to be heard. The sharing of your words liberates your soul, eases your angst, soothes your heart and mind. Your writing is for you. 

You’re succeeding in a male-dominated world. Some might even say you’re thriving. You’ve been promoted, rewarded, fought over. You make decisions for yourself.  

You cook. You grill. You bake. You broil. You blend. You chop. You build. You demolish. You garden (meh). You clean. You vacuum. You polish. You launder. You iron. You steam. You fold. You straighten. You refresh. You are curious. You tend to whatever it is your heart wants.

You’re willing to suffer in order to find your own happiness. Your willing to suffer for others. You’re willing to suffer for peace. Because suffering is temporary in the name of peace. Peace is subjective. You choose peace for yourself.

You’re on a path to self-identity, self-confidence, self-definition that will lead to amazing things. You’re making your own identity. Arriving at it through hard work and a shitload of help.  

You’re humble. You ask for help when you need it. You raise your hand when you don’t understand. You seek clarity when you’re confused. 

You overthink things. That’s okay. Doing so has developed in you an awareness of human emotions and experiences that allows you to uniquely connect with others. You’re okay if those other people don’t want to connect. 

You’re not ready yet to share yourself with someone else. You’re not yet whole enough to fully let someone else in. You’re strong as fuck for putting your own needs first. You are not alone. Do you hear me? You are not alone. I am here. We are enough. For now and for always. We. Are. Enough. 

You’re trusting. Eventually. Until that point, you’re protective and that’s an admirable mechanism of self-care.

When you couldn’t find the words, you baked. You baked dozens and dozens of cookies. And somehow, your love was what people remember from those dark days when we lost a loved one too soon. You saved people with your kindness, with your caring, with your generosity. 

You are awesome. Your calluses and blisters and scars and bruises and stretch marks and cellulite and saggy skin and veins and freckles and beauty marks and blemishes and skin tags and hair and torn cuticles and dry skin and squishiness and tautness and muscles and fat and all the things that make a woman’s body, they are the fabric of you, they weave together so beautifully, they tell the history of your very amazing body. The history of your very amazing body that once weighed 192lbs. The history of your very amazing body that once weighed 142lbs. The history of your very amazing body that now weighs somewhere in between.

The history of your very amazing body that has withstood your hatred, your restriction, your loathing, your attempts at sabotage, your bingeing, your embarrassment, your shame, your fear, your downright disdain for this body you’ve been given. That history is history.

We now have a loving relationship where cellulite is sexy (say what?!), where stretch marks are womanly, where bruises and scrapes and blisters are reminders that you’re fragile, where calluses are reminders that you’re adaptive. Where squishiness is a reminder that you’re fucking human, where torn cuticles are reminders that manicures aren’t miracles, where muscles are a reminder that the work is never done.

You apologize. Because you’re strong like that.

You respect your body. You value serenity.  

You’re adventurous. You try new stuff. You’re not afraid to fail. You are willing to change. You’re ready to adapt. You’re pretty fucking awesome. You’re resilient. Like the waves that keep on crashing, you keep on showing up, methodically, religiously, consistently. 

With all the love, 

Me

P.S. #thanksbuddy

The post Dear Self, I Love You. appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

http://ift.tt/2fbEGZv

[joshuabradleyn]

Dear Self, I Love You.

I recently gave a client the assignment that she had to rave about herself.

This is something I do in my workshops as well– I force beautiful, wonderful women to endure the horrendous torture that is standing up in front of a group and bragging about herself honestly, until the timer is up.

This exercise might sound kind of fun, but I assure you it brings up some really interesting stuff. It’s incredibly uncomfortable, as a woman, to break the unspoken law that we must be humble and modest.

I once watched a woman fight such an extraordinary inner battle as she stood there sweating and crying, that if I hadn’t given her the assignment, I might have thought she was trying to will herself to transform into a werewolf.

This inner battle is exactly why I assign it.

The person doing the bragging often learns a lot about how powerfully she has bought into certain social guidelines, and it opens an important discussion on what it would look like to really “own” your strengths, gifts, power, and beauty.

But something even more interesting often happens to the observers.

Watching a woman brag about herself is kind of shocking. It’s startling, and disorienting. We are experientially blind to the experience of watching a woman truly own her greatness– it has a way of making your brain go WAIT WHAT’S HAPPENING NOW?!

That’s why I want to share the following guest-post, written by a client.

This woman took my assignment (rave about yourself unapologetically) and turned it into a beautiful blog post, and as I read it I felt the familiar tingles in my brain.

This kind of self-celebration by a woman is powerful, because it’s so rare. I want you to read her work (I’m posting it below exactly as she wrote it) and see what comes up for you.

Does it make you uncomfortable? Inspired? Brain-glitchy?

Why?

If you feel so inspired, I want to hear from you, too. Will you rave about yourself in a video or written post?

Will you celebrate the shit out of yourself, just to see how it feels?

If so, please tag me in it so I can see, on Instagram or Facebook.

Without further ado, here is my second-ever guest post, shared with permission by Kate. Her original post can be found on her brand new blog: Kewe Life, here.

I’M GOING TO A RAVE.

Have we met? If not, nice to meet you. I’m pretty awesome. Not in a boastful or cocky way, but in a subtle, confident kind of way. Whether we know each other or not, sit back, relax, and settle in. Because I’m about to throw my subtlety to the wind in a radical exclamation of my love for myself.

Have you secretly admired someone but were never quite able to muster the courage to tell that person what you thought? Ever realize that person you were secretly admiring was yourself? In a long overdue acknowledgement of my awesomeness, I invite you to celebrate me with me as I finally send my lifelong crush a love letter.

And so, let the rave begin.

Dear Self,  

You’re a woman. An awesome woman. A powerful woman. A strong woman. A brave woman. A devoted woman. A curious woman. An affectionate woman. A kind woman. A caring woman.

You impress me every day with your bravery. Seriously, that shit is in-fucking-spiring. You wake up, get out of bed (most days), brush your teeth (most days, hah), then you go out into the world, and you show up, fully. Day in and day out. There you are. Standing, waiting, ready to work. To work on yourself, to work to connect with your soul, to work to sort through all the dark, messy clutter to make peace with yourself. You do all the work. 

You’re organized as fuck. Honestly, sometimes it’s concerning. But mostly it’s amazing. 

You want to help others. You seek out ways to. You are drawn to the desire to effect change. To lend a hand. Or an ear. Or a shoulder. Or whatever you can manage to share. 

You’re starting to learn boundaries. Boundaries to help yourself flourish, not boundaries to tame your desires. You’re learning the power of “no”. Not in a defiant way, but in a way that is caring of your own needs.

You say “thank you”, more often than not, now when someone compliments you. You don’t shy away from the light of your life. You walk into it, you welcome it, you seek that light. It wakes you up.

Superficial, you are not. Depth is your power. Depth of self, depth of connection, depth of commitment.  

Your ass is amazing. Truly. It’s a work of art. A creative expression of your strength. Powerful, ready to work.  

Your smile is incredible. Your eyes are beautiful. Your laugh is warm. Your giggle is endearing. Your wit is intoxicating.   

You are strong. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. You do not sacrifice your kindness for your strength. You are cognizant of your rough edges and you look to buff them when you think it’s necessary. Because you care deeply about other people. About their feelings, their hopes, dreams, wishes, about their whole beings. You are willing to get hurt a little (or, sometimes, a lot) in the quest for connection. Because without connection, what is there? 

You stand really fucking tall. You are confident. You are funny. You are an amazing woman. You are generous. You are charismatic. You are goofy. You are secretly a great dancer, with enviable rhythm but also sometimes two left feet. Please share your dancing with the Universe; I’m sure it would love to see more of it. 

You are accepting. You are gifted. You are smart. You are inquisitive. You are headstrong. You are adventurous. You are talented. You are ballsy. You are sarcastic. You are interested. 

You lean in. You open the doors to the dark places. You walk boldly into the face of fear and shame and guilt and those big, scary emotions and you ask them to come out into the light. You see your demons as your muses. You seek to see the good in people, in the world, in life.  

You are beautiful. You are sexy. You are curvy and bendy and soft. You are hard and tough and gritty. You were made to do more. To bring joy. To share your experiences. To offer guidance. To offer support. To embrace life’s challenges as gifts.  

You are all I ever need you to be. You are everything you were meant to be. 

You have a voice. It’s big. Bold. Beautiful. Courageous. Inspiring. Funny.  

You’re an awesome aunt. Aunt Tatie, to be exact. You give, whatever you can, whenever you can.  

You are a writer. Your words were meant to be shared. Your voice, meant to be heard. The sharing of your words liberates your soul, eases your angst, soothes your heart and mind. Your writing is for you. 

You’re succeeding in a male-dominated world. Some might even say you’re thriving. You’ve been promoted, rewarded, fought over. You make decisions for yourself.  

You cook. You grill. You bake. You broil. You blend. You chop. You build. You demolish. You garden (meh). You clean. You vacuum. You polish. You launder. You iron. You steam. You fold. You straighten. You refresh. You are curious. You tend to whatever it is your heart wants.

You’re willing to suffer in order to find your own happiness. Your willing to suffer for others. You’re willing to suffer for peace. Because suffering is temporary in the name of peace. Peace is subjective. You choose peace for yourself.

You’re on a path to self-identity, self-confidence, self-definition that will lead to amazing things. You’re making your own identity. Arriving at it through hard work and a shitload of help.  

You’re humble. You ask for help when you need it. You raise your hand when you don’t understand. You seek clarity when you’re confused. 

You overthink things. That’s okay. Doing so has developed in you an awareness of human emotions and experiences that allows you to uniquely connect with others. You’re okay if those other people don’t want to connect. 

You’re not ready yet to share yourself with someone else. You’re not yet whole enough to fully let someone else in. You’re strong as fuck for putting your own needs first. You are not alone. Do you hear me? You are not alone. I am here. We are enough. For now and for always. We. Are. Enough. 

You’re trusting. Eventually. Until that point, you’re protective and that’s an admirable mechanism of self-care.

When you couldn’t find the words, you baked. You baked dozens and dozens of cookies. And somehow, your love was what people remember from those dark days when we lost a loved one too soon. You saved people with your kindness, with your caring, with your generosity. 

You are awesome. Your calluses and blisters and scars and bruises and stretch marks and cellulite and saggy skin and veins and freckles and beauty marks and blemishes and skin tags and hair and torn cuticles and dry skin and squishiness and tautness and muscles and fat and all the things that make a woman’s body, they are the fabric of you, they weave together so beautifully, they tell the history of your very amazing body. The history of your very amazing body that once weighed 192lbs. The history of your very amazing body that once weighed 142lbs. The history of your very amazing body that now weighs somewhere in between.

The history of your very amazing body that has withstood your hatred, your restriction, your loathing, your attempts at sabotage, your bingeing, your embarrassment, your shame, your fear, your downright disdain for this body you’ve been given. That history is history.

We now have a loving relationship where cellulite is sexy (say what?!), where stretch marks are womanly, where bruises and scrapes and blisters are reminders that you’re fragile, where calluses are reminders that you’re adaptive. Where squishiness is a reminder that you’re fucking human, where torn cuticles are reminders that manicures aren’t miracles, where muscles are a reminder that the work is never done.

You apologize. Because you’re strong like that.

You respect your body. You value serenity.  

You’re adventurous. You try new stuff. You’re not afraid to fail. You are willing to change. You’re ready to adapt. You’re pretty fucking awesome. You’re resilient. Like the waves that keep on crashing, you keep on showing up, methodically, religiously, consistently. 

With all the love, 

Me

P.S. #thanksbuddy

The post Dear Self, I Love You. appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

http://ift.tt/2fbEGZv

[johnclapperne]

Dear Self, I Love You.

I recently gave a client the assignment that she had to rave about herself.

This is something I do in my workshops as well– I force beautiful, wonderful women to endure the horrendous torture that is standing up in front of a group and bragging about herself honestly, until the timer is up.

This exercise might sound kind of fun, but I assure you it brings up some really interesting stuff. It’s incredibly uncomfortable, as a woman, to break the unspoken law that we must be humble and modest.

I once watched a woman fight such an extraordinary inner battle as she stood there sweating and crying, that if I hadn’t given her the assignment, I might have thought she was trying to will herself to transform into a werewolf.

This inner battle is exactly why I assign it.

The person doing the bragging often learns a lot about how powerfully she has bought into certain social guidelines, and it opens an important discussion on what it would look like to really “own” your strengths, gifts, power, and beauty.

But something even more interesting often happens to the observers.

Watching a woman brag about herself is kind of shocking. It’s startling, and disorienting. We are experientially blind to the experience of watching a woman truly own her greatness– it has a way of making your brain go WAIT WHAT’S HAPPENING NOW?!

That’s why I want to share the following guest-post, written by a client.

This woman took my assignment (rave about yourself unapologetically) and turned it into a beautiful blog post, and as I read it I felt the familiar tingles in my brain.

This kind of self-celebration by a woman is powerful, because it’s so rare. I want you to read her work (I’m posting it below exactly as she wrote it) and see what comes up for you.

Does it make you uncomfortable? Inspired? Brain-glitchy?

Why?

If you feel so inspired, I want to hear from you, too. Will you rave about yourself in a video or written post?

Will you celebrate the shit out of yourself, just to see how it feels?

If so, please tag me in it so I can see, on Instagram or Facebook.

Without further ado, here is my second-ever guest post, shared with permission by Kate. Her original post can be found on her brand new blog: Kewe Life, here.

I’M GOING TO A RAVE.

Have we met? If not, nice to meet you. I’m pretty awesome. Not in a boastful or cocky way, but in a subtle, confident kind of way. Whether we know each other or not, sit back, relax, and settle in. Because I’m about to throw my subtlety to the wind in a radical exclamation of my love for myself.

Have you secretly admired someone but were never quite able to muster the courage to tell that person what you thought? Ever realize that person you were secretly admiring was yourself? In a long overdue acknowledgement of my awesomeness, I invite you to celebrate me with me as I finally send my lifelong crush a love letter.

And so, let the rave begin.

Dear Self,  

You’re a woman. An awesome woman. A powerful woman. A strong woman. A brave woman. A devoted woman. A curious woman. An affectionate woman. A kind woman. A caring woman.

You impress me every day with your bravery. Seriously, that shit is in-fucking-spiring. You wake up, get out of bed (most days), brush your teeth (most days, hah), then you go out into the world, and you show up, fully. Day in and day out. There you are. Standing, waiting, ready to work. To work on yourself, to work to connect with your soul, to work to sort through all the dark, messy clutter to make peace with yourself. You do all the work. 

You’re organized as fuck. Honestly, sometimes it’s concerning. But mostly it’s amazing. 

You want to help others. You seek out ways to. You are drawn to the desire to effect change. To lend a hand. Or an ear. Or a shoulder. Or whatever you can manage to share. 

You’re starting to learn boundaries. Boundaries to help yourself flourish, not boundaries to tame your desires. You’re learning the power of “no”. Not in a defiant way, but in a way that is caring of your own needs.

You say “thank you”, more often than not, now when someone compliments you. You don’t shy away from the light of your life. You walk into it, you welcome it, you seek that light. It wakes you up.

Superficial, you are not. Depth is your power. Depth of self, depth of connection, depth of commitment.  

Your ass is amazing. Truly. It’s a work of art. A creative expression of your strength. Powerful, ready to work.  

Your smile is incredible. Your eyes are beautiful. Your laugh is warm. Your giggle is endearing. Your wit is intoxicating.   

You are strong. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. You do not sacrifice your kindness for your strength. You are cognizant of your rough edges and you look to buff them when you think it’s necessary. Because you care deeply about other people. About their feelings, their hopes, dreams, wishes, about their whole beings. You are willing to get hurt a little (or, sometimes, a lot) in the quest for connection. Because without connection, what is there? 

You stand really fucking tall. You are confident. You are funny. You are an amazing woman. You are generous. You are charismatic. You are goofy. You are secretly a great dancer, with enviable rhythm but also sometimes two left feet. Please share your dancing with the Universe; I’m sure it would love to see more of it. 

You are accepting. You are gifted. You are smart. You are inquisitive. You are headstrong. You are adventurous. You are talented. You are ballsy. You are sarcastic. You are interested. 

You lean in. You open the doors to the dark places. You walk boldly into the face of fear and shame and guilt and those big, scary emotions and you ask them to come out into the light. You see your demons as your muses. You seek to see the good in people, in the world, in life.  

You are beautiful. You are sexy. You are curvy and bendy and soft. You are hard and tough and gritty. You were made to do more. To bring joy. To share your experiences. To offer guidance. To offer support. To embrace life’s challenges as gifts.  

You are all I ever need you to be. You are everything you were meant to be. 

You have a voice. It’s big. Bold. Beautiful. Courageous. Inspiring. Funny.  

You’re an awesome aunt. Aunt Tatie, to be exact. You give, whatever you can, whenever you can.  

You are a writer. Your words were meant to be shared. Your voice, meant to be heard. The sharing of your words liberates your soul, eases your angst, soothes your heart and mind. Your writing is for you. 

You’re succeeding in a male-dominated world. Some might even say you’re thriving. You’ve been promoted, rewarded, fought over. You make decisions for yourself.  

You cook. You grill. You bake. You broil. You blend. You chop. You build. You demolish. You garden (meh). You clean. You vacuum. You polish. You launder. You iron. You steam. You fold. You straighten. You refresh. You are curious. You tend to whatever it is your heart wants.

You’re willing to suffer in order to find your own happiness. Your willing to suffer for others. You’re willing to suffer for peace. Because suffering is temporary in the name of peace. Peace is subjective. You choose peace for yourself.

You’re on a path to self-identity, self-confidence, self-definition that will lead to amazing things. You’re making your own identity. Arriving at it through hard work and a shitload of help.  

You’re humble. You ask for help when you need it. You raise your hand when you don’t understand. You seek clarity when you’re confused. 

You overthink things. That’s okay. Doing so has developed in you an awareness of human emotions and experiences that allows you to uniquely connect with others. You’re okay if those other people don’t want to connect. 

You’re not ready yet to share yourself with someone else. You’re not yet whole enough to fully let someone else in. You’re strong as fuck for putting your own needs first. You are not alone. Do you hear me? You are not alone. I am here. We are enough. For now and for always. We. Are. Enough. 

You’re trusting. Eventually. Until that point, you’re protective and that’s an admirable mechanism of self-care.

When you couldn’t find the words, you baked. You baked dozens and dozens of cookies. And somehow, your love was what people remember from those dark days when we lost a loved one too soon. You saved people with your kindness, with your caring, with your generosity. 

You are awesome. Your calluses and blisters and scars and bruises and stretch marks and cellulite and saggy skin and veins and freckles and beauty marks and blemishes and skin tags and hair and torn cuticles and dry skin and squishiness and tautness and muscles and fat and all the things that make a woman’s body, they are the fabric of you, they weave together so beautifully, they tell the history of your very amazing body. The history of your very amazing body that once weighed 192lbs. The history of your very amazing body that once weighed 142lbs. The history of your very amazing body that now weighs somewhere in between.

The history of your very amazing body that has withstood your hatred, your restriction, your loathing, your attempts at sabotage, your bingeing, your embarrassment, your shame, your fear, your downright disdain for this body you’ve been given. That history is history.

We now have a loving relationship where cellulite is sexy (say what?!), where stretch marks are womanly, where bruises and scrapes and blisters are reminders that you’re fragile, where calluses are reminders that you’re adaptive. Where squishiness is a reminder that you’re fucking human, where torn cuticles are reminders that manicures aren’t miracles, where muscles are a reminder that the work is never done.

You apologize. Because you’re strong like that.

You respect your body. You value serenity.  

You’re adventurous. You try new stuff. You’re not afraid to fail. You are willing to change. You’re ready to adapt. You’re pretty fucking awesome. You’re resilient. Like the waves that keep on crashing, you keep on showing up, methodically, religiously, consistently. 

With all the love, 

Me

P.S. #thanksbuddy

The post Dear Self, I Love You. appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

http://ift.tt/2fbEGZv

[ruthellisneda]

Dear Self, I Love You.

I recently gave a client the assignment that she had to rave about herself.

This is something I do in my workshops as well– I force beautiful, wonderful women to endure the horrendous torture that is standing up in front of a group and bragging about herself honestly, until the timer is up.

This exercise might sound kind of fun, but I assure you it brings up some really interesting stuff. It’s incredibly uncomfortable, as a woman, to break the unspoken law that we must be humble and modest.

I once watched a woman fight such an extraordinary inner battle as she stood there sweating and crying, that if I hadn’t given her the assignment, I might have thought she was trying to will herself to transform into a werewolf.

This inner battle is exactly why I assign it.

The person doing the bragging often learns a lot about how powerfully she has bought into certain social guidelines, and it opens an important discussion on what it would look like to really “own” your strengths, gifts, power, and beauty.

But something even more interesting often happens to the observers.

Watching a woman brag about herself is kind of shocking. It’s startling, and disorienting. We are experientially blind to the experience of watching a woman truly own her greatness– it has a way of making your brain go WAIT WHAT’S HAPPENING NOW?!

That’s why I want to share the following guest-post, written by a client.

This woman took my assignment (rave about yourself unapologetically) and turned it into a beautiful blog post, and as I read it I felt the familiar tingles in my brain.

This kind of self-celebration by a woman is powerful, because it’s so rare. I want you to read her work (I’m posting it below exactly as she wrote it) and see what comes up for you.

Does it make you uncomfortable? Inspired? Brain-glitchy?

Why?

If you feel so inspired, I want to hear from you, too. Will you rave about yourself in a video or written post?

Will you celebrate the shit out of yourself, just to see how it feels?

If so, please tag me in it so I can see, on Instagram or Facebook.

Without further ado, here is my second-ever guest post, shared with permission by Kate. Her original post can be found on her brand new blog: Kewe Life, here.

I’M GOING TO A RAVE.

Have we met? If not, nice to meet you. I’m pretty awesome. Not in a boastful or cocky way, but in a subtle, confident kind of way. Whether we know each other or not, sit back, relax, and settle in. Because I’m about to throw my subtlety to the wind in a radical exclamation of my love for myself.

Have you secretly admired someone but were never quite able to muster the courage to tell that person what you thought? Ever realize that person you were secretly admiring was yourself? In a long overdue acknowledgement of my awesomeness, I invite you to celebrate me with me as I finally send my lifelong crush a love letter.

And so, let the rave begin.

Dear Self,  

You’re a woman. An awesome woman. A powerful woman. A strong woman. A brave woman. A devoted woman. A curious woman. An affectionate woman. A kind woman. A caring woman.

You impress me every day with your bravery. Seriously, that shit is in-fucking-spiring. You wake up, get out of bed (most days), brush your teeth (most days, hah), then you go out into the world, and you show up, fully. Day in and day out. There you are. Standing, waiting, ready to work. To work on yourself, to work to connect with your soul, to work to sort through all the dark, messy clutter to make peace with yourself. You do all the work. 

You’re organized as fuck. Honestly, sometimes it’s concerning. But mostly it’s amazing. 

You want to help others. You seek out ways to. You are drawn to the desire to effect change. To lend a hand. Or an ear. Or a shoulder. Or whatever you can manage to share. 

You’re starting to learn boundaries. Boundaries to help yourself flourish, not boundaries to tame your desires. You’re learning the power of “no”. Not in a defiant way, but in a way that is caring of your own needs.

You say “thank you”, more often than not, now when someone compliments you. You don’t shy away from the light of your life. You walk into it, you welcome it, you seek that light. It wakes you up.

Superficial, you are not. Depth is your power. Depth of self, depth of connection, depth of commitment.  

Your ass is amazing. Truly. It’s a work of art. A creative expression of your strength. Powerful, ready to work.  

Your smile is incredible. Your eyes are beautiful. Your laugh is warm. Your giggle is endearing. Your wit is intoxicating.   

You are strong. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. You do not sacrifice your kindness for your strength. You are cognizant of your rough edges and you look to buff them when you think it’s necessary. Because you care deeply about other people. About their feelings, their hopes, dreams, wishes, about their whole beings. You are willing to get hurt a little (or, sometimes, a lot) in the quest for connection. Because without connection, what is there? 

You stand really fucking tall. You are confident. You are funny. You are an amazing woman. You are generous. You are charismatic. You are goofy. You are secretly a great dancer, with enviable rhythm but also sometimes two left feet. Please share your dancing with the Universe; I’m sure it would love to see more of it. 

You are accepting. You are gifted. You are smart. You are inquisitive. You are headstrong. You are adventurous. You are talented. You are ballsy. You are sarcastic. You are interested. 

You lean in. You open the doors to the dark places. You walk boldly into the face of fear and shame and guilt and those big, scary emotions and you ask them to come out into the light. You see your demons as your muses. You seek to see the good in people, in the world, in life.  

You are beautiful. You are sexy. You are curvy and bendy and soft. You are hard and tough and gritty. You were made to do more. To bring joy. To share your experiences. To offer guidance. To offer support. To embrace life’s challenges as gifts.  

You are all I ever need you to be. You are everything you were meant to be. 

You have a voice. It’s big. Bold. Beautiful. Courageous. Inspiring. Funny.  

You’re an awesome aunt. Aunt Tatie, to be exact. You give, whatever you can, whenever you can.  

You are a writer. Your words were meant to be shared. Your voice, meant to be heard. The sharing of your words liberates your soul, eases your angst, soothes your heart and mind. Your writing is for you. 

You’re succeeding in a male-dominated world. Some might even say you’re thriving. You’ve been promoted, rewarded, fought over. You make decisions for yourself.  

You cook. You grill. You bake. You broil. You blend. You chop. You build. You demolish. You garden (meh). You clean. You vacuum. You polish. You launder. You iron. You steam. You fold. You straighten. You refresh. You are curious. You tend to whatever it is your heart wants.

You’re willing to suffer in order to find your own happiness. Your willing to suffer for others. You’re willing to suffer for peace. Because suffering is temporary in the name of peace. Peace is subjective. You choose peace for yourself.

You’re on a path to self-identity, self-confidence, self-definition that will lead to amazing things. You’re making your own identity. Arriving at it through hard work and a shitload of help.  

You’re humble. You ask for help when you need it. You raise your hand when you don’t understand. You seek clarity when you’re confused. 

You overthink things. That’s okay. Doing so has developed in you an awareness of human emotions and experiences that allows you to uniquely connect with others. You’re okay if those other people don’t want to connect. 

You’re not ready yet to share yourself with someone else. You’re not yet whole enough to fully let someone else in. You’re strong as fuck for putting your own needs first. You are not alone. Do you hear me? You are not alone. I am here. We are enough. For now and for always. We. Are. Enough. 

You’re trusting. Eventually. Until that point, you’re protective and that’s an admirable mechanism of self-care.

When you couldn’t find the words, you baked. You baked dozens and dozens of cookies. And somehow, your love was what people remember from those dark days when we lost a loved one too soon. You saved people with your kindness, with your caring, with your generosity. 

You are awesome. Your calluses and blisters and scars and bruises and stretch marks and cellulite and saggy skin and veins and freckles and beauty marks and blemishes and skin tags and hair and torn cuticles and dry skin and squishiness and tautness and muscles and fat and all the things that make a woman’s body, they are the fabric of you, they weave together so beautifully, they tell the history of your very amazing body. The history of your very amazing body that once weighed 192lbs. The history of your very amazing body that once weighed 142lbs. The history of your very amazing body that now weighs somewhere in between.

The history of your very amazing body that has withstood your hatred, your restriction, your loathing, your attempts at sabotage, your bingeing, your embarrassment, your shame, your fear, your downright disdain for this body you’ve been given. That history is history.

We now have a loving relationship where cellulite is sexy (say what?!), where stretch marks are womanly, where bruises and scrapes and blisters are reminders that you’re fragile, where calluses are reminders that you’re adaptive. Where squishiness is a reminder that you’re fucking human, where torn cuticles are reminders that manicures aren’t miracles, where muscles are a reminder that the work is never done.

You apologize. Because you’re strong like that.

You respect your body. You value serenity.  

You’re adventurous. You try new stuff. You’re not afraid to fail. You are willing to change. You’re ready to adapt. You’re pretty fucking awesome. You’re resilient. Like the waves that keep on crashing, you keep on showing up, methodically, religiously, consistently. 

With all the love, 

Me

P.S. #thanksbuddy

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