The princess never wanted to be saved by a prince. She just needed her father to do his godforsaken shadow work. So she could actually feel safe in this world.
I am your daughter and it is OK for me to fuck up sometimes! In front of an aloof father, a daughter sounded the alarm.
All she ever needed was for his kind eyes to open wide enough to see her, for him to nod his head, yes. To say: I hear you and you are justified. Not to flinch. Not to react. Just to hold space for her sacred rage. To be a solid boundary upon which she could ricochet back into herself.
All she ever needed was to stand in front of him and cry. And for his arms to open wider. To receive her in her sorrow with a sturdy spine.
Do you know how many times I have warped myself in he presence of a man? How many times I have altered my speech. Softened my truth. Refrained from speaking altogether? Just so he would not get upset? Just so he wouldn’t harm me? Just so he wouldn’t run? Just so he wouldn’t disappear in dissociation? Just so he wouldn’t reject me?
Do you know how small I have had to make myself at the entrance of all male dominated institutions just to fit through the doorway? Do you know how often I have had to ignore and override my own body with sheer force of will just to be able to participate? Do you know how many kid gloves I have worn out just to try not to lose him to his own internalized inferiority?
And it never worked. Of course it didn’t.
I have only ever wanted to say I am angry and still be met with presence /// instead of chaos.
I have only ever wanted to say I am sad and still be met with warmth /// instead of fear.
I have only ever wanted to say I am excited! and still be met with enthusiasm /// instead of distance.
I have only ever wanted to be ugly and still be treated with respect.
I have only ever wanted to be beautiful and still be treated with respect.
Make no mistake, this is not an absolutist feminist stance.
I hear people speak in praise of a matriarchy they have never known. But I know too many disturbingly narcissistic mothers doing silent damage in their domestic dungeons to trust the distorted feminine with the controls at this time. Please, more nuance. I trust nobody. Still more nuance. This is a collective call to action, to step out of the old drama triangle of self-inflicted suffering.
I am not interested in any type of dominion. I am interested in an anarchic belonging to each other. A sacred union of masculine and feminine archetypes contained in my own body and in our shared relational commons. I want social alchemy. I want the individuated human in charge of all existential things. And mundane things too. I want 3000 androgynous parents pointing the way.
We’ve got work to do, courageous one.
The heart work of becoming something beyond our rigid selves, beyond our outdated identities. We’ve got to get to work for our children’s children’s levity – and grace.
All images above were made with ink and a photo editor over the years, by me – y.y.
Metaphysical Mulch 