My greatest fear used to be dying alone. In its own way that one fear began to seep into a neighboring fear of not being enough; not pretty enough, not knowledgeable enough, not successful or happy enough. I followed that trail into what I discovered to be the obsessive driving force behind my servitude.

Don’t get me wrong! I love giving. Healing is a deep part of both my soul and my heritage. I don’t just heal, though. I dive – no, I engrain myself into families and situations until I am a necessity. I enjoy responsibility, but I make it so I bear the most. I make myself irreplaceable.

If I wasn’t enough how would I find the right person – read, win – to fall into self denying, servitudenal (is that a word?), successful non-bliss? How else would I safely and predictably construct a plain place for myself? Who would need me?

As you can imagine, I began to see several yards of thread disentangling themselves before me; there was a psychic sigh of relief, muscles relaxing and jaw unclenched.

I need me. Deep breath. I need me. 

I need me. I own me. I house me. I create me. I am me. I love me. I will live for myself.

I am quite enough! For many I’m a bit too much, and that’s fine. Take me or leave me. I love myself.

I love the way I dress, the way I craft each look with personality if not always effort. I’m a glamorous witch in sweatpants and scrubs alike; I am fearsome in thigh highs or sky clad.

I love the way I give off wild energy! I love the scars and tattoos on my skin, I love the soul within the temple.

I want to travel…I want to start over up north or down south, start school and walk the area near my apartment.

I am a Goddess of wind and wonder, and I am not afraid to die alone.

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