“There is an art in the emptiness of all natural things.”

Somedays I am more wolf than woman. And I am still learning how to stop apologizing for my wild.

And darling, I hope your remember to kiss the ghosts goodnight. They are only older versions of you that you have had to discard and forget.

Grandmothers are a gift not to be taken lightly. So many lose them, before they are old enough to know their magic. I am glad my bones were born with this knowledge.

That growth is simply learning how to suffer, gracefully, elegantly constantly moving and travelling without letting your pain tear you apart.

You need not fear the wolves you hide in your soul. They were made not to hurt you, but to protect you against this world.

To heal you must forgive your heart, your skin, your body, all of their mistakes.

To my inner child, I promise I am trying my best to heal from everything that hurt you. I promise I am trying to become the person you need me to be so we can both be whole.

Maybe living your truth will not make you happy all the time, but it will make you happy every day.

And they didn’t spend years painting your soul into masterpiece-like existence for you to waste it on someone who doesn’t appreciate you.

The rose is not everyone’s favorite flower, but that does not make it any less beautiful. There is a lesson for all of us in that.

There is a lightening in our bones and wildfire in our spirits and we will find a way despite it all to survive and thrive.

All my childhood heroes lived on the page. Now they live in me.

The absence of abuse does not automatically equal a healthy relationship. The absence of trauma does not automatically equal joy.

And I return home always. Because love’s call has always been stronger than the moon’s.

Love yourself loudly, dangerously, everywhere people have been afraid to love you, afraid to ask the way to cherish you, afraid to hold you. Love yourself most in these places, because who can be a better teacher to others in how to love you than yourself.

The bird building her home on your windowsill has every nest destroyed before. The spider that is delicately weaving a masterpiece has had every single thread broken before. And despite it all, they try again.