A Love Letter To The Time You Gave Your Power Away.


Remember this moment — where you remembered your heart. Remember the messages — pounding deep inside, rising up with a howling and a headdress on.

It was you, saying to yourself, “I’m sorry.” Remember how, when you breathed, you felt the tightness in your heart, in your chest. You gave the pain a location. Your desire to be loved, but not because you are needy, because you have so much love to give, and you are getting even better at it.

Remember the call to return to yourself, for you have now experienced leaving once again. An experiment. The time you chose to hand your power over, almost entirely, to see how it felt. To see if it was indeed a release, as it can be for some, sometimes.

Remember that the aching you feel is not a longing for a person, it is a begging to return to your truth, to your light, because that is your purpose, you golden soul. The healing is hard because the path of the warrior is not easy, yet here you are, coming home with your battle cry laced with hearts.

A confusion about what lifts you up, what serves a purpose, what is meant to be — the questions don’t always have easy answers — but one thing is for sure, the only constant is change. The only question worth focusing on is where to find more kindling.

How to grow the flames, how to lace up the armor, how to break down the walls with your bare hands and your smile large and your laughter echoing just loud enough to emanate to the very core of the earth. And blossom you shall, my love. Now, as ever before, as always.

To rain your words and presence upon the world like a perfect summer burst, caught with your tongue out, trying to catch it all. The lesson driven home: your power can never really truly be taken, but it can always be reclaimed.

This process makes you stronger, and here you are, with arms like wings that still stretch wide to embrace. They welcome, because life is nothing if not the ultimate training in just showing up, and eventually, fearlessly.

Just arriving. Just breathing. Just descending upon the present moment with every ounce and atom and captivating sparkle that you, my love, are composed of. Cosmos and dust and skin and bones and every beautiful twist and shake this Universe has ever dreamed up, all in one place, uniquely.

Just fanning the flames of others, and doing the circular dance where all that love will always come back to you in the end, some way, somehow.

Openness is the quality of your eyes, mind, and windows, of your limitless heart, of your perfect mouth speaking words and slinging sparks and licking the horizon with such gentle ease — it speaks volumes and stacks novels while you think you’re just dreaming out loud.

In tiny tremors echoing somewhere to someone, or many, who are finding their way to you with magnetic force — the earth quakes with how full of life you are. It trembles for you to keep touching the tender parts of everyone around you in the way only your silver-strand-spooling fingers know how.

You weave fields and quilts of secret messages and quiet kisses everyday. Even when your thoughts are heavy, the stars are still showing up to meet you. The moon is still rising to lull you and call you and piece out your wildest notions to compose your Sunday best. Your most elegant outfit. You, exactly as you are.

A wave and song of indescribable molecules that make the world spin one breath at a time. You inhale and exhale with the force of every god or goddess incarnate while you strut down the street, and you think you’re just walking. You, my love, you radiate.

Your constellation is burnt into the ether, into the everything, making your stamp and your mark with every letter you bind together. You were never lost, but you are always being found, uncovering, peeling back the layers, seeing just how far you can expand. That’s the big secret, the giant adventure; your smallness is an illusion.

Nothing can be taken from you, because it will only ever fit into your perfect form, your gilded container, my love, you breath of grace. In the hour of feeling reduced, of feeling diminished, of feeling vacant — may you always know that you, my love, you radiate.

In the moment you notice, you are already on your way home, and there will be flowers for you.


Robin Lee
Robin Lee is a writer, healer, and modern medicine woman. Professionally, she is an alchemist and empoweress of humans and ideas. She is the founder of The Babe Collective, and is a seasoned Women’s Sexuality and Confidence Coach as well as a Registered Yoga Teacher, Breathwork facilitator, and Reiki practitioner. She has devoted her life to the studies of ancient mysteries, transforming trauma, and the wisdom of the Divine Feminine. A perpetual student of Tantra, alchemy, and magick; she seamlessly weaves together these bodies of inquiry with healing practices - delivering them through a modern lens of accessibility, pleasure, and laughter. She is equal parts dark and light, Kali and Shakti, and lives to encourage the wholeness and wildness of others. She lives in Brooklyn, travels often, never stops creating, and eats a lot of avocado. You can contact her here.
Robin Lee
Robin Lee

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