The Four Letter Words

Growing up at some point we discovered there were some words that were “bad”, they were words we were never supposed to say.

It occurs to me now that I have zero memories of the word fuck hurting. Nor damn, or shit, or hell.

No, my four letter words were different. They were rat’s nest (used to describe my hair), and willful, and stubborn. Or hate, annoying, and bossy. These were the words that hurt and they were used daily by the adults and family who.. loved me?

I know these words may not elicit the same general reaction as the word cunt, but let me tell you friend, they did far more harm in my life than that word ever did.

Rat’s nest is part of my story of disconnection from my body because of the false message that it was not enough as is.

Willful and stubborn have always been my mother’s favorite way to tell me I am bad.

Hate was my brother’s reminder throughout our childhood that he would not ever love me.

Annoying justified the abuse I suffered at his hands by both him and my parents.

And bossy.. just in case I got any ideas of staying in connection with my power, they made sure this last one made me think twice. Bossy was the ultimate minimizer, the light dimmer, the silencer.

These were the four letter words of my childhood, the anti-love that should have never been spoken, and whose roots dug deep.

On the path to healing I have welcomed these parts of me home. The parts of me that knew things and would not roll over easily to be a victim. The parts of me that wanted to be free. The parts of me that wanted to play and take up space. The parts of me who are strong. The only word I have no place for is hate, that word I give back to its owner because I know it does not belong to me.

Now I stand in my light of truth and say I, the girl with tangled hair and the loud mouth, who speaks her mind, and gives herself sacred permission to take up space, am enough.

Laying in a Field of Flowers I knew I would Survive

My upbringing included a religious indoctrination that at best left me often feeling confused, and at worst planted seeds of deep shame and fear which took root. Uprooting these toxic messages from my childhood have absolutely been part of my healing, AND there are places in me where that darkness never touched.

A large part of my childhood took place outside unsupervised with The Mother, my true Mother, the Earth. This was the miracle of my childhood. The trees, the wildflowers, the open fields, the dirt and mud, the animals and insects; they were the reminders that kept my soul anchored to my own true spiritual path.

One spring day when I was young, I was alone in one of the field’s of wildflowers next to our home. There was a clearing where no flowers grew in the middle of the field. I laid down in the middle of the clearing and watched the sky. It was overcast, I had not seen the sun once that day, but there in my circle it broke through and shone upon me. While laying blanketed in the light I remembered something, all I can describe this remembering as is Love. I knew I would be okay, I knew I would survive my life, and I knew Love and the support of The Mother was the reason.

Our messages of remembrance surround us all the time. When I was a child those long days alone in nature kept my spiritual channel open to receive the messages of support and Love that I needed. We all come here with wisdom of the place we came from, it is important that we keep our spiritual channel open so we are able to remember the Truth and Love of our soul’s purpose.

Do you sing to your babies?

I sat on our front patio this evening. It was the first time I had been in the quiet of the outside alone in over a week. Little bubby was in bed, my husband inside on the couch, I sat in my metal cafe chair, ginger tea in hand, and I read. What I read does not matter, it’s not worth mentioning, the joy of being alone with my book and tea and the sunset and the birdsong – that is what matters tonight.

There are things I do not understand right now. How we could question another person’s lived experience as if they are not the sole expert on their own life.. How we are still standing outside of our humanity telling ourselves their is comfort here in the ignorance and darkness.. How we are still sick and dying everyday from disease and violence yet we rush back into the open stores and restaurants as if this reality is not real.. I do not understand the willful blindness after everything we have been through. How have our sleepy eyes with their imperfect vision of the world not been pried permanently open? How are we not changed? How are our hearts not softened? How are we not able to now, after it all, finally say ENOUGH?

Enough to it all. Enough on all levels.

I am enough, me made of Love, made to Love. I am enough which means those stores and restaurants hold nothing inside that I need. Everything I need is inside of me already.

Enough denying the Truth of oppression and pain and generational trauma, the blood of which is still staining our very hands.

Enough talking with our empty words and untruths.


I sat in the silence tonight listening to the birds sing their final songs of the day. I imagined them, those mother and father birds, sitting at the bedside of their babies, singing them to sleep just as I do mine every night before he leaves this day behind. I sing to him a song I made up, a song where he is the center of the story and the love. I thought of all the mothers, the fathers, who long to sing that last song of the day to their murdered babies. I thought of the children who will never hear that last song of the day spill off the tongues of their murdered parents. We created this brokenness by ignoring and denying its existence. We did this. The question is, will we continue? And if not, then what? How will you stop it? What will your part be? What will be mine?

These are the thoughts and questions that weigh heavy on my heart. These questions will not go unanswered.