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Girl, I love you. Blood of my blood. You cannot see it, but perhaps you will feel it.

I drop this love into the waters of consciousness like a pebble and maybe the ripples it creates will touch you. Will embrace you. Dear one, when your anxiety rises so high that it presses hard upon your chest, clogs your throat, and fills your mouth and nostrils, I am there.

When your sensitive soul overpowers you, when you are sure that it will pull you under, I will be your rock. A rock that you can cling to when you think you are drowning in panic and doubt, when you are afraid of all that you see in this world.

Girl, you are tenacious — never forget that.

Girl, I love you. Bone of my bone. When you are too much for anyone else, please know that you are not too much for me. Dear one, when your fragile heart swells with huge emotions and you cannot contain them any longer, when you are overwhelmed by the excesses that you feel, when at last they burst forth from you in a maelstrom that frightens you with its ferocity, I am there with you.

I am there in the mess and the heat and the tears. I hold you through each gulping sob, smoothing your hair from your brow. Push me away, girl, and I will crouch close. You need to feel my presence. I know this.

Girl, you are passionate — your ferocity is your strength.

Girl, I love you. Flesh of my flesh. I will stand close to you as if you were my very own daughter. I will raise my hackles and bare my bloodied fangs at anyone who harms you. I will tear them limb from limb if you need me to. And I will suck on the bones of what remains. I will rise up and stand against them all — we fight together, you and I. Or I will prowl quietly by your side, protecting your flanks as you skulk away.

I am your shadow, with you at every turn. I am side by side with you in every victory and in every defeat.

Girl, you are assertive — your vehemence will aid you.

Girl, I love you. Womb of my womb. I love you as if I bore you myself. When you are wracked with the painful conviction that nobody could possibly love you, I am there. When you feel in the depths of your soul that nobody could ever like who you truly are. When you cannot contain the contempt and disdain you feel for yourself. When you pull at your own hair and bite your own flesh to punish yourself.

“I hate you!” you scream into the mirror, despising the distorted features that scream back at you. “Ugly!” you wail over and over, slapping at your own face, clawing at your cheeks and gouging at your neck. “Bitch!” you cry, your cheeks stained with tears. When those harsh words sting, I am there too. See my face in the reflection, dear one. My compassionate eyes. Feel the love I hold for you.

Girl, you are beautiful — just as you are.

Girl, I love you. Sinew of my sinew. When it has all become too hard for you, I am with you. When your perception of injustice takes its stranglehold and you cannot let it go. When your lungs are filled with fury and your mouth packed with raging words that tear from your lips and then subside to trembling whispers of shame and guilt. When you lie defeated, upon the ground, I will lick your wounds, dear one.

I will lie beside you as your breath comes in choking spasms and your eyes are hot and crimson with regret, and I will console you.

Girl, you are courageous — always stand up for your convictions.

Girl, I love you. Heart of my heart. I shall break past the bondage of time to find you. I shall go back, back, back! I shall find that small child who is confused and bewildered, who is aching and lonely. You, who is always too much or too little. You, who knows the word sin far too well. You, who finds solace in the depths of your mind, within the faerie worlds you weave around yourself.

You, who wraps herself with a soft blanket of fantasy to get away from yourself. You, who wishes she could be so much more or so much less. You, who swallows your voice until it burns in your throat, pushing it down low and holding it there until it bubbles up and must be released. Like wildfire. You, who screams your words bitterly  into your pillow. Dear one, I shall find you and hold a space for you. Always.

I will love you more and more. I will forgive you, if that is what you need me to do. Today I bring to you compassion and tenderness. Because, dear one…

… I am you.

***

Verity Louisa is a weaver of words, a spinner of stories, and a forger of fantasy. She is a fabricator of fables, a maker of magic, and a lover of legend. She is a creator of mess and of laughter, a crafter of tears and of tantrums. She is a mystic mama. She is a woman-child who loves fiercely and drinks deeply from the cup that bears the sweet nectar of the profound. She lives in a beautiful British Celtic county, and embraces life here with open arms, because its ancient rhythms pulsate and resonate through her. You can connect with her on Facebook, Twitter or via her website.

***

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