She is a powerful woman—and that scares you, doesn’t it?
She walks toward you with bright eyes, hips swaying under her long turquoise skirt, and you actually gasp. Breath catches in your throat, heart thumping with excitement as your skin prickles with goosebumps.
You want to swim in the depths of her.
She moves you—she moves this unknown something deep within you.
Magic, she is.
It’s the way she whispers to trees and hears poetry from the warm, golden sunbeams on the first hot day in May.
It’s the way her heart has been broken a thousand times, but she only becomes softer with every break.
It’s the way she’s fallen to the utter depths of despair, but rises, time and time again, with a smile on her face.
It’s the way she walks her path with pure courage and grace.
It’s in the way she cries so hard and laughs so loudly.
It’s the way she refuses to be anyone but herself.
She shows up in this world, real. Shaking and utterly beautiful. And she is beginning to know just how powerful that is. She is beginning to sense the potency of her presence as a woman, for it is medicine. Her heart, with its soft, chrysanthemum folds and hot volcanic ash—it is medicine. And it is medicine the world needs so desperately.
She is complicated, oh yes she is—and that scares you doesn’t it?
Your lips try, but they only stutter slightly, for you can’t explain the mysterious, magnanimous essence of her soul in mere syllables or sentences that hang limp in the air.
She is utter wordlessness, the way a gentle breeze can whisper to tear-stained cheeks and calm everything.
She is pure fire, the way a jolt of lightning can strike in your heart and suddenly—shock you, shake you awake—and change everything, rendering old, archaic structures to dust in a matter of minutes.
She is change. She is the darkest, thickest midnight. She is a soft, yellow sunrise. She is the expansive wilderness itself.
She wears a cape of so many things—wise, wild, bubbly, flirtatious, soft, giggly, sensual, intense, fierce, caring, an unrelenting warrior, a complete force of nature.
All of these things swirl within her at once, but the result is not chaos, or a fractured existence. It’s a potent calm that drips with knowing.
She’s confident, and that scares you doesn’t it?
It’s the way she walks into the room, all fire and purpose—exactly herself.
Confidence buds deep in her veins and spills over to smooth the knots of self-doubt that used to define her. The doubts inserted in her head by past lovers who didn’t appreciate her, from society, and the traumatic experiences of the past that shook her to the core—they all dissipate now.
She barrels toward freedom with every breath she takes. She settles for nothing. She settles not for the status quo.
She lives on her own terms—and that scares you, doesn’t it?
She is certainly not the kind of woman you could hope to control. Confine. Cage.
She’s no longer willing to crawl when her wings are so thirsty and beautiful—it’s only soaring now.
For she no longer accepts a grey, dulled-down version of her soul’s incredible light. She’s no longer willing to silence the joyous shouts of her own voice so that others can tell her what to think, who to be, what to say.
She no longer thinks it’s okay to wither away, sacrificing everything to stay with a lover who doesn’t see the beautiful depths of her, but someone familiar who could keep her warm at night.
She wants love, she loves love, she craves love—but she is no longer on an exhausting quest to find it—she knows that she is love.
And she radiates it out with every ounce of her soul.
She’s really strong—and that scares you, doesn’t it?
She’s faced hard times, rough times, dark times—oh, how they almost crushed her, but they didn’t—she wouldn’t let ’em. Pain has only carved more beauty in the grooves of her phoenix soul. It only gave way to more tenderness; to deeper determination.
So many didn’t believe in her—they told her to tone it down, to shut up, to stop shining—but she doesn’t listen.
She listens only to the pulse of life itself, to the gritty wisdom written in her own soul.
She knows who she is. She knows what she wants. And she will ask for it. And she will go get it. And she will create it.
She has strong boundaries, worships the word “No,” owns her anger, and speaks her mind.
She’s wild—and that scares you, doesn’t it?
She’s been told that she’s “too much,” that she’ll never find a man who can “handle her.” But that’s the thing—she doesn’t want to be handled.
She wants someone to run wild with, dive deep with, to the places where mystery ebbs and flows and cracks wide open to reveal stardust. She wants a love that is more like gushing poetry than a domesticated existence.
So don’t handle her.
Respect her wings, her tenderness, her roots, her fire, her own way of doing things.
Break free with her, frolic in fields of fragrant honeysuckle, looking like complete idiots as you smile so big it could crack open even the most suspicious places in your heart—as you encourage one another to be bigger, more fantastically alive, more lit up.
She’s extraordinary—and that scares you, doesn’t it?
It’s the way you feel like she could satisfy all that you ever thirsted for in a partner, making love itself into something more than love—art, a meditation, poetry, a transformative unveiling of truth itself.
She will love you, she will see you, she will encourage you, she will utterly experience you, and she will know you—but she’s not gonna enable you. She’s not gonna be your caretaker or your mommy. She’s broken her own heart too many times being the fixer, the helper, the one who bears the brunt of another’s pain.
Shedding this pattern is part of what has emboldened her, pushed her toward a deeper freedom that explodes inside her gently now, like the flapping of an eagle’s wings on the side of a rugged mountaintop.
So she scares you, yes, she scares the utter depths of your being—but do you find that actually feels really good?
She scares you—and that’s a good thing. It’s a goddamn breath of fresh air.
Because she doesn’t actually scare you…
She only scares the parts of you that protect your heart. She scares the armor. The masks. The bullsh*t. And the prickly thorns.
Good, those parts should be shaking in their boots.
But the parts inside you that are tender and raw and longing—climbing tenaciously toward the light—those parts do not fear her. They reach out to her kiss her rosy cheeks, like vines, their emerald green limbs only wanting to bask in all she is.
Take this risk, dear lover. You won’t regret it.
Does the masculine not truly wish to embrace the feminine in this healing, heartfelt way?
Shake, cry, and open to love.
Open to true vulnerability.
Let your armor fall away. Let the masks dissipate. Be naked, in front of her, in every way.
Take this risk.
Look at her with all the fire and tenderness inside you, and see it, reflected back, in her.
Her heart is juicy and open, so ready for you.
Her heart is welcoming, adorned with daises and breathless beauty, like when the sky is so bright blue it almost seems impossible.
Her heart awaits the tender kisses your lips will plant on her lips.
Is your heart ready?
If it’s not—if it’s really not—that’s okay, but please walk away.
Don’t string her along. She won’t tolerate it anyway. She won’t settle for tiny crumbs of love. She won’t stick around for a maybe, kind-of, half-way sort of lover who makes her feel invisible.
Value her—or not. It’s your choice. But she values herself.
For the first time, she is thriving—utterly thriving—unfolding and blossoming by the second into the enchanted forest she is.
She knows, now, what it is to feel lit up and amazing. She knows what it is to sit in the fiery center of her soul and stoke those flames with her smile and creativity and tears—the inspiration flowering all around her like spring itself.
So she won’t sacrifice herself to be with anyone. If that’s required, she’ll walk away.
But if your heart is screaming, pulsing, moaning with readiness, then—
Run to her.
Dive deep with her.
Dig into an amazing, artful love with her.
Be completely present with her.
Be vulnerable with her.
Be perfectly yourself with her. The beauty of who you are—it will simply speak volumes to her.
Open like a delicate lily to her.
Cry with her.
Love like never before with her.
Show up, fully. Show up beautiful and tender and strong. Or don’t bother at all.
But if your heart is ready, if it screams with readiness—if it drips with the desire to experience love like never before, reach out for her.
If she is for you, if you are for her—
Don’t let fear get in the way.
Let her fingertips meet yours.
Let your soul meet her soul.
Be bold in this exquisite tenderness.
Take this risk.
Reach out for her, she is already reaching out for you.
And get ready to watch the most beautiful thing bloom to life right before your eyes.
Author: Sarah Harvey
Photo: Sarah Zucca/Flickr
Editor: Lieselle Davidson