manna from heaven 🥐

i think maybe the worst lie I believed, while I still believed was that I was so completely broken that the only way I’d be whole is if someone saved me. & honestly the idea of someone saving me was pure gold. it was the subject line of all my dreams. the topic my mind would always wander back to. the pleading, crying, exhausted & defeated face of a 5 yr old as she BEGGED for someone to come & save her. please help me. please rescue me.

perhaps that’s why the stories of princesses fascinated her so much. there was always someone that showed up to drag the young scared helpless princess out of the darkness that someone else created. and she was never blamed. she never felt shame for letting someone else do the hard part, the scary part, the most important part. i would wait & wait, pray & pray for that very person, angel, whisper to come save me, until i learned that i was her. the only savior i had access to was the one already living inside my chest. how i hated her for so long. as though knowing she existed all along prevented a “true” hero from swooping in & doing what she was so damn tired of doing.

but now that i’ve lived this way for so long i realize how damaging this lie of being broken to the point of selfless sacrificial saving is deemed. because let me tell you something: no one showed up except me. & the amount of times i had to do that before i realized no one else would is perhaps embarrassingly heartbreaking yet wholeheartedly freeing. because everything i needed so desperately i breathed to life in my very core. i have embodied a savior from before i could even remember and i am the best at it, not because of simply my experience but because i ditched this bigoted self defeating idea that you need someone or something else to do the very growth you were born capable of.

when i was little i thought i just wasn’t loud enough in my suffering. that my pain was still too small and too new to warrant a divine savior to notice me, to see me, to care. now that im grown i realize how much time i wasted wishing for the very thing i didn’t let myself realize i had become. believing that this brokenness was somehow forever warped and kneaded into my being almost actually broke me. until i stopped & looked at a horrifically beautiful life size painting of myself & actually recognized her, not just as a broken, fucked, scared, & complicated woman but as the hero of the story she so desperately searched for when she was little. the tattered cape fell of my shoulders and the wings that had always been, burst forth from my back, finally able to let myself soar.

& now that I’m my own north star, i can finally see the totality of my being.