Never Again Apologize For Your Strength.
My whole life, this time around, I was told (in one way or another) that I was very strong.
Strong-minded, strong-built, strong-presence, strong-willed, strong-mouthed.
Yes, I am these things. I’m also more than these things.
But the above given testimonies were never intended in a way that made me feel good about who I am.
My only saving grace while growing up was that I was fairly brilliant — straight A’s, natural athlete, no help needed apart from being fed and given a roof over my head. So this seemingly meant that these graces balanced out the negatives above.
Yes. I have a lot of strength.
Physically, emotionally and spiritually.
But no, I am telling you today with this little platform as my stage — I will never apologize for this again.
I have never been able to not tell the truth as I see it. No matter how raw or undressed in the usual package that people expect.
What is often missed is the beating, breathing, heart of it. The nucleus of my message is a ball of love, aflame.
I can see how much more people can be and can never seem to allow them to tell themselves falsities. I believe these stories we tell ourselves hurt humanity on a grand scale.
We, the privileged, have a duty to be our absolute best every single day and express the wisdom and joy that is inside all of us — for those in this bleak world that cannot.
I am not a girl anymore who is nervous about being so strong-minded that she even makes her own father nervous.
I am a woman who is finally claiming that she has always been a warrior.
I will never apologize.
I will never again shrink my presence so as to not disturb those who may feel intimidated. I’m sick of that shit. I will no longer pretend that I don’t have a fire that burns within me from the mother of all mothers.
She will not be smothered anymore.
She feels angry. She always has. Since before I ever knew that anger could exist. No apology.
Because darling, this is ancestral shit.
I have been tired of this world since entering it and I was born strong because I had no other choice. My strength is the vehicle and the very embodiment of what I am meant to show up in this world as.
Darling, I’m a fighter for truth and more importantly — I‘m a fighter for you.
As soon as womanhood began entwining my body, the divine mother — Gaia, earth mother — spoke to me and through me.
This message, whatever it may be, has never been pink.
It has never been gentle.
It has never been quiet.
It has been burning.
The thunder that bellows from a wall of fire.
And so fucking loving that I almost can’t breathe.
I closed the door on her, and I won’t anymore. No apologies. Just love. Raging with the light and heat and smoky essence from the depths of our collective feminine soul.
I never knew that the world could contain so much pain and hurt and moral outrage. I never knew that what it takes to live purposefully and as conscious as possible in this world is strength.
Strength that infuses your bones with a diamond shimmer.
Strength that sings your soul to sleep after a serving of disappointment and greyscale.
Strength that sends roots deep into the core of where you are and who you are.
Strength that knows where to find its food.
What I did know is that I am strength.
It flows steady in my veins and with love spins the fibers of my soul. It’s the midnight blue thread, smooth as silk, knowing the way to flow. Hugged by a gold line of love, encircling, spiraling, arousing my strength — the serpent of healing and light rises too.
My blue thread can be nudged and guided by love and rinsed in grace and power.
My strength is my lake — deep and blue — always taking my soul to drink.
My strength is the expanding blue flame inside my belly — the one that caused the kiln I made as a hiding place, explode.
My strength speaks to me in ways that can’t be separated from the matriarch Herself. When I pray, I feel her fire cradling my pelvis. She burns with the pulse of life and the need to not sit idly by, or stay the fuck quiet.
She burns through me as my blue thread of infinity and my strength, and I will always be a channel for her love and her law.
She speaks to me from the deep, and it’s from here that I bow.
Brooke Steff could say that she writes about the human condition. She doesn’t say that, because she thinks it makes her sound like a wanker. She does, however, write as a response to the beauty and wretchedness that our human souls face. She writes strongly about what is sacred, what it really means to be a woman, and how having a tender heart is an act of rebellion in a world that tells us that love is never the answer. She yearns for Autumn and Winter always. Books make her feel rich. And guests at her dream dinner party include Joan of Arc, Winston Churchill, Zelda Fitzgerald, William Butler Yeats, Anne Lamott, Carl Barron and a couple of bad-ass nuns.