The full story is not that simple.

Here I stand, open-hearted, loving, in my full divine femininity, waiting for you—the sacred masculine—to remember my worth and to embrace me as I long to be embraced.

But I know that’s not really the full story. It might suit me very well, and even be true at times, to say I’m fine, I just need you to catch up.. Yet I know I play my part too in the dramas and sagas that keep us separate. And there are times when it suits me to have it that way, when it’s easier to blame you than to do my own work.

So for all those times I come home from work carrying hard angles and aggression, I am sorry.

Sorry for the times when I square up to you, acting as if I have more balls than you do. Because I do know, deep down, that it isn’t about the strongest, toughest or most assertive winning. It’s just that I get sucked into the game sometimes, the game I’ve learnt to play to ensure financial independence and material success, forgetting that there are other ways.

This may be what you seem to demand of me in the boardroom and office, but it’s not what you really want from me—and I need to remember that. I know you need to feel like a man, and that it’s not a competition (although, truth be told, there are days when I might feel like I‘d make a better man!).

I may have embraced my femininity but old habits are hard to break.

And for those times when I get hypercritical, I’m also sorry. When every little thing you do seems to be wrong—even packing the dishwasher or making dinner. It is how I react when I’m under stress and feel neglected, and I know this isn’t your fault. But I take it out on you, and for that I truly am sorry.

I love the times when you recognize what’s happening and firmly tell me where the hell to go, or hold me in your arms and connect with me again—it balances me out. Yet I know you’re reluctant to do this.  After all, you’re in awe at how much I can do so well, at that wonderful female ability to multi-task and let’s face it, I also remind you of your mother (yuck). So you tiptoe around me or leave the scene, and I rant and rage even more, rather than recognizing that I need to give myself a break.

Sorry too, for those times when I simply won’t let go.

Those times when I’m like a dog with a bone, when I know you’re tired and worn out, or just want to lighten up, and I continue to go on and on, not recognizing when to allow an issue to rest for a while. I’ve learnt not to let things go if I want them resolved, have forgotten that the gift of flow is also one of the gifts of the feminine, and I practice control like a zealot at times.

But most of all, I’m sorry for all the little ways in which I undermine you.

For the times when I don’t seem to be playing on the same team, when I sit on the fence before deciding if I should believe in you, the times I threaten to leave if you don’t play my way. I have an infinite number of ways of withdrawing my emotional support, of not sharing my energy with you, most of which you’re not even aware of. And if you start to get a glimmer of what’s going on, I’ll flatly deny it and make it seem like your fault. Ouch.

For all of this I’m truly sorry.

If we are to play alongside in this new world, at least allow me a chance at confession. Perhaps if you see the full picture, you’ll realize that being divine doesn’t mean being perfect.

And we can laugh together, clear the air—and then cheer each other on into a greater embodiment of our divinity.

This article first appeared in the authors blog under the title “I may be perfect but…an apology from the divine feminine.”

 

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Editor: Lori Lothian

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