She couldn’t relax, couldn’t sit still.

She had never stayed in one spot for more than seven seconds.

Her bones began to ache a deep, unrelenting ache, for even her muscles knew she had been pacing for days, or maybe, for her whole f*cking life.

She was exhausted, from all the running and shifting and twirling and changing.

She never grew roots; she didn’t know how.

But, no matter how far she ran or the delicious distractions her restless spirit discovered, she was always haunted by this uncomfortable rub, rub, rubbing coming from a deep, dark place inside.

Like a giant sandpaper hand scratching at her tender heart, the friction felt like too much.

Would it kill her?

Would her heart spill open into the streets, revealing pearls of pulsating vulnerability for all to see?

Would people finally see who she really was, and scream out in shocked gasps of complete horror?

She didn’t know.

But, one day, she stopped trying so hard to know.

She stood silently in the breeze, letting the whipping winds have their way with her messy hair, and she realized something:

Nothing was wrong.

Everything was right.

All of the fierce friction inside was perfect.

It was meant to ignite her like a booming firework; to inspire her to burst out of her tightly budded shell and blossom into a bright orange tiger lily.

“This is transformation,” the breeze whispered wisely, “sticky, brutal, and beautiful because of its ruthlessness.”

She fell to her knees, because her soul so deeply agreed.

Oh, how she had resisted this raw, bittersweet pain her whole life.

Not today.

Today, she sat down and steered directly into the pain.

And she cried.

She cried roaring rivers and peaceful streams and sparkling mountain lakes.

She cried foamy waterfalls and cascading creeks and swampy swimming holes.

She cried, until the sheer force of her salty tears blew her heart wide open.

Then, the sticks in her soul were ready to rub together.

A fire started, slowly, but surely.

It hurt, f*ck yes, it hurt.

But—it rubbed away the heaviness of the past.

It rubbed away hating herself and words unsaid and feelings unfelt and moments so hard she had bled for days.

It rubbed away regrets and mistakes and duct-taping her mouth shut.

It rubbed away fear and panic and nights so lonely they seemed to never end.

It rubbed her so raw that she became who she was meant to be:

Herself.

Yes; she became herself.

It was simple, painful and profound.

She emerged from the thick smoke of the gruesome past: a sticky butterfly with shaky legs, a loud voice, a naked heart, and fingers ready to reach out and caress life.

Her wild heart was finally free.

She walked outside and felt the firm ground beneath her feet for the first time.

She stood there, in awe, and let each toe grow massive red roots that shot all the way down into the hot dirt.

She sighed a sigh so big she was worried the entire earth would shake from the pure explosiveness of her fiery cries.

She felt little pulses of raw power lap at her shins, crawling all the way up to her nose.

She became a lightning bolt.

She became a crashing wave.

She spread her electric wings

Opened her shaky mouth.

And soared into the world.

And roared into the world.

Ready to make some

F*cking

Magic.

Relephant:

She Let Go.

Author: Sarah Harvey 

Editor: Renée Picard 

Photo: Flickr