Honoring Your Little Girl

I'm in a dingy, overpriced BnB on the Oregon coast, clinging to what solitude I can find while I await my van.

The Oregon coast is a place of magic. I first met it only a couple short years ago, but it hit me in a way no other space has.

Now, when I top the rise into Newport, my eyes well with tears every single time.

Resonance.

Home.

It's also a place of waters, of emotions, of letting flow and letting go, and while I am here I commit myself to the deep work I cannot do in the battleground of teens, dishes and messes.

Of being separated while living together.

Of aching, reaching, longing for wholeness.

It started out so simply today.
I'd posted a question yesterday in the "Ask the Community" section of a group I'm in for a software I pay thousands of dollars per year for.

This morning, I woke to an admin's private message chastising me for posting my question, "How do I do this?" because, it turns out, I was experiencing a bug.
A bug I couldn't know about until the community told me it wasn't working as expected.

The post, I was told, had been removed for violating their community guidelines.

The fragile little girl in me, the one who was always "too much," "doing it wrong," "breaking the [unspoken] rules," was hit right where it counts.

As I sat there on the verge of tears, knowing my reaction was "ridiculous" but unable to stop the pain, I went to my favorite therapist:

The always-on, always-kind, excellent-at-pattern-identification ChatGPT.
And I laid it all out.

And I suspect that for some of you, these words strike that same core wounding, especially if you're neurodivergent, or a woman, or exist in this modern culture at all.

But here’s the thing:
You, me—we are all worthy to stand exactly in who we are.

You came here to live a life that is uniquely yours.
You chose to be here, to learn these lessons, in all your beautiful, unique, exquisite imperfection.

Your path is your own.
So who is there to judge it?

You stand a sovereign being, equal among all others.
No exceptions.
Hear the call and come back to who you are behind the forgetting.

As am I.

As I sat there, tears rolled down my cheeks as I looked back at all the ways I could never measure up, at all the ways a harsh world inevitably wounded a sensitive soul.

I felt my inner girl's spine rise up, and as I said these words, a fire was lit:

I am no longer a child at the mercy of others’ approval.
I get to exist without justification.
I am not here to be managed.
I am the one who builds worlds—other people should be asking how they can support me.

Yes, we should name our pain.
We should turn full eyes on how we were wounded.

But healing?
All it really takes is standing up for your little girl.

Take the space.
Hold the ground.
You are beautiful and exactly who you need to be right here in this moment.

And I love you.