I seldom share my notes from my journal; or my poems; or my essays/extended pieces of writing on here. I kind of keep that stuff private and then have this as a more public platform. But in an effort to become more authentic and real – I decided that I would start to share a little more personal stuff on here and that includes my writings/musings. So today I wanted to share a piece of writing – not quite a poem, not quite an essay, not quite anything definitive – just thoughts and words that spilled out of me this morning, in the hopes that it resonates with someone and might instil a greater sense of pride and love for the people that we truly are. That we love and accept ourselves unconditionally and our life aligns us with those rare people in the world who might just love us for all that we are too.

I want to be loved for me.

And for the way that I see the world;

the way that I trust and love wholeheartedly;

the way that I ambitiously juggle reading three books at once, always with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge;

the way that I stand up for things that I care about;

the way that I treat others;

the way that I often am up at 1am struck with inspiration and ideas and a million and one plans;

the way that I say inappropriate things at inappropriate times and always put my foot in it;

the way I possess dualities within my character;

the way that I cloak myself in strength and resilience;

the way that I feel things – like really feel things, to my core;

the way that I feel inspired to spark change in myself and the world around me;

the way that I seek transformation and growth and enlightenment;

the way that I soften when I surrender to someone’s embrace;

the way that I connect with people – fiercely and passionately;

the way that I try to see the best in every situation;

the way that I weave profanities seamlessly into deep conversations;

the way that I desire touch and lust and affection;

the way that I have the best intentions, but sometimes fuck up on the follow through;

the way that I seriously and legitimately want everyone to experience happiness;

the way that I fret (full blown panic) over the state of our planet and feverishly try and learn how to make a difference;

the way that I give up from time to time because I feel like I’m not good enough or can’t make a difference;

the way that I clumsily bump into every wall, corner and piece of furniture;

the way that my skin looks when I’m bare faced – blemishes and all;

the way that I try to be sexy, but can never quite shake off the ‘goofy’ aspects of myself;

the way that I tell a joke and laugh too much to finish and never actually get to the punch line;

the way that my head is forever in the clouds, and mind forever in the gutter;

the way that I treasure relationships and connection above all else;

the way that I avoid cleaning for days then go on a mad cleaning binge;

the way that I scribble words, plans, hopes and thoughts in journals, on scrap paper and on post its all over the house;

the way that some days I have my shit together and then the next day I don’t;

the way that my smile reaches right up to my eyes when I’m really happy, and reveals my imperfect teeth;

the way that my playlist jumps from acoustic covers to gangster rap, and I genuinely can’t decide which genre I love more;

the way that my body has kind of found it’s own groove and is its own picture of health (regardless of what mainstream media says health is supposed to look like);

the way I can work on projects and ideas til early hours and survive on little sleep to then … ;

the way I am in bed at 8pm on a school night because it feels so damn good;

the way I love kissing and closeness and intimacy and passion;

the way I forget things way too easily and always need reminding five times about what’s coming up or what plans are;

the way that I wear the same sentimental jewellery all day, erryday;

the way that I write epic novel length love notes in people’s birthday and Christmas cards;

the way that I love cooking a meal for and sharing a glass of vino with my loved ones;

the way that I (try to) prioritise kindness, to myself, others and the planet, with everything that I do;

the way that I am an ever changing, ever growing, ever learning being whose only constant is her spirit;

the way that I don’t possess the smarts of a scholar, the talent of an artist, the looks of a model, the green thumb of a hippie, the wardrobe of a fashion blogger but;

the way that I don’t believe that what I lack is really what matters;

the way that I am learning to appreciate myself and others as whole, real, flawed, imperfect and multifaceted earthlings;

the way that I am growing tired of compliance, submission and fitting in when we were born to stand out;

the way that I am sometimes a red hot emotional mess, and tears spill like confetti;

the way that I love the feeling of an aching belly from a night of laughter with friends;

the way that I lose track of time when I sit and write and am a conduit for the messages stirring inside (and outside) of me;

the way that I possess an unwavering belief in the Universe, and magic, and souls and divine timing;

the way that I therefore have an unshakable trust in the way things pan out and that we are always exactly where we need to be.

I want to be loved for all these things. I crave unconditional love based on my essence and my truth, rather than physical/tangible constructs that can change, or identities/roles/external classifications that are transient.

Peel back the layers, remove my titles and accomplishments and failures, strip the material illusions … and you will find me.

And I want to be loved for me.

Blessings and a shit load of love x

Image sourced from here