“But—what will they think of me?” I wondered, for the billionth time.
This question. Oh, this damn question. The sheer weight of it has haunted, tortured and stalked me for years—the terror alone holds my curious heart back from reaching out and grabbing life fully.
I mean—if I’m truly, completely myself, won’t people think I’m nuts? Weird? Terrible? Disgusting?
Won’t they just flat-out reject me?
No. They won’t. Or maybe, they will—we can never really know, can we?
All we can do is take the risk, and trust in the truth of who we are.
So today, I’m taking that risk.
I’m unhooking the “what will they think of me” obsession from my heart and replacing its crushing weight with a fresh bouquet of daisies. Because I know I can survive rejection. I can survive not being liked—what I can’t handle is dulling myself down for a minute more and tip-toeing around, worrying constantly about other people’s opinions of me.
So today, I’m rising up from the bitter ashes of fear and stepping into my thirsty skin—without the slightest f*cking apology. This is my long-awaited initiation—a pinky-swear I’m making with myself, to honor her brilliant madness, always.
From this moment forward, I vow to be me.
All of me.
Not a shiny slice of what I think people would like, not a polite sketch and not a cute, bite-size Polaroid that fits neatly in a pretty little category.
Nope. I refuse to simplify the roaring chaos that swallows me up so deliciously.
Because, hell—I’m a complicated woman. And I like it that way.
I wanna walk around with truth embossed like gold to my lips, and my soul hanging out of my sleeves, like raw frosting. I wanna dance, a swaying silk scarf when I move, an ode to the spiral galaxies swirling underneath the thick flesh of my hips.
I wanna color outside the lines—way outside the lines—-and swim in endless seas of poetry, torn pages lit by nothing but candles.
From this moment forward, I vow to embody
Than the tender truth that pulsates
Like bloody rubies through my veins.
My voice matters.
My words will be heard.
Naked and trembling, painful and glittering—
Words falling from weeping trees, like rust-tinged leaves
Dancing down to the muddy ground
Revealing my raw soul
One pluck of the fierce breeze at a time.
I will stand, stripped and shocked—
A lone wolf, running through the spruce-lined forest
Standing in my full power.
Speaking with roaring passionate fire.
Loving with my whole heart.
Nothing less will do.
It never did anyway.
Today is the death of the past,
Today, I step into my skin
Without the slightest f*cking apology.
Today is the day
I dare to embody
The messy magic of
Who I really am.
Nothing less will do.
So, I sit, breathless, as the intense pitter-pattering of words stops. I linger here, in this juicy moment, etching it onto my heart, with shining flecks of gold.
There’s no turning back now.
This is my initiation.
“Here I am—oh, here I am,” I say out loud to no one but the swirling breeze.
This is me.
Author: Sarah Harvey
Editor: Yoli Ramazzina
Photo: Flickr/Olga Ferrer Saladié