Once upon a time…
Is it really the thought that counts? Amelia presented the gift bag as if legions of angels would descend on floating clouds, trumpeting her thoughtfulness in remembering Stella’s birthday. Awkwardly gracious, Stella responded with the most appropriate line she could think of…
“You shouldn’t have!”
And she meant it. Amelia shouldn’t have because now she was stepping over the line. They were simply mothers with children at the same school who occasionally recognised each other at the odd recital or kid’s sporting event.
Regardless, they were not on gift-bagging terms. Especially the kind you immediately re-gift to other peripheral friends, like cheap chocolates, fuzzy socks, calendars, or coffee mugs.
You shouldn’t have!
Because now Stella had to remember if Amelia was born in March or April. She would then have to invite Amelia to lunch somewhere trendy and overpay for complicated chicken salads and sparkling wine. They would debate for a nanosecond about ordering a slab of artery-strangling dessert. They will joke about cheesecake being high in dietary protein. Yet, when the waiter returned from clearing their half-eaten salads, they would trill together in unison: Oreo Dream Extreme Cheesecake! (What’s a little heart disease amongst gift-bagging friends?)
You shouldn’t have!
Stella held the gift bag in both hands. Both women stood with frozen smiles on their faces. Now what? Stella’s eye’s narrowed. Amelia was expecting her to open the gift bag – as if there weren’t more important things she needed to attend to. She sighed, surrendering to the unveiling of this selfless act of generosity. Jaw clenched, Stella forced a smile.
Since Amelia had clearly coughed up at least $9.99 for one of Hallmark’s finest, Stella took her time appraising the bedazzled foil and colourful ribbons as if they were a work of art. As expected, animal-related puns splattered the front: “Thinking of Ewe!” “Feline Fine!” “Let’s gopher a drink!”
Isn’t that clever? They both agree that it is.
Between forced chuckles, Stella wondered when society collectively decided to stop taking the extra four minutes to thoughtfully wrap presents. At what point did we agree that it was socially acceptable to simply shove gifts into a bag, without even bothering to remove the clear plastic hanging tag? Dismissing the questions for another day, it was now time to cull through the vibrant fuchsia-coloured tissue paper to uncover the treasure waiting for her at the bottom. Midway down, Stella’s fingers touch the item Amelia had selected.
‘Good god, woman. What. Have. You. Done?’
By the size and heft of the gift, it was clear that Amelia had purchased Stella a book. On purpose.
Stella liked to pick out her own books. She had a stack of them by her bed that she was never going to read, and now she would be forced to add this one to the pile. To compound insult to injury, Stella knew Amelia was going to ask her about the book when she saw her next.
It would take all of Stella’s remaining bandwidth to pull the publication from the gift bag, read aloud the title like a sacred scroll, and then find some authentic way to say thank you for the worst present ever. In the meantime, thoughts raced…
Say it was a cookbook. Neither Stella nor Amelia are likely to master the art of French cooking in their lifetime, and Stella was adamant she did not need Giada De Laurentiis’ hot take on toasted cheese sandwiches. At this point in meal preparation, she had basically given up. Dinner was ceded to Deliveroo, UberEats or whatever overpriced shite is shoveled into the Home Chef or Lite n’ Easy box – prepped in an airport hangar, ensconced in enough ecologically-toxic packaging and dry ice to last the next million years. Stella eyed Amelia and thought, ‘Don’t you dare judge me – neither of us are mincing garlic or zesting orange peel on a Tuesday. Even if I do like one of these sixteen-part recipes, I’m going to have to hunt down tarragon at an expensive deli, use an eighth of a teaspoon, and then let the rest rot in the back of the pantry. That’s a NO from me.’
Poetry? If she pulled the book from the bag to find it was a book of poetry, chances are, it would have been written by one of Amelia’s friends or relatives, and she was just abusing the Amazon algorithm to jack up their sales.
True Crime – as opposed to fake crime? Stella balked at the thought of slogging through the sick underbelly of mankind. The evening news was bad enough!
As for a mystery? At Stella’s age, most things were already a mystery: the sociopolitical landscape, what was going on with her neck, her spouse, the viability of her career, what her children did on the internet, and her cat’s ability to throw up exactly where she was about to step. Why complicate an already complicated world even further? She did not need any more surprises. ‘Keep your mysteries off my nightstand.’
Fantasy. OMG. If Amelia had bought her the first installment of any fantasy series, she would drive directly to her house and burn the whole thing down. She was absolutely not interested in an excruciatingly detailed realm with a hundred characters and settings. While she appreciated the intensive world-building some author probably conjured up in his parent’s basement, she’d wait until Netflix bought the rights, effectively ruining it as only Hollywood can do, by ensuring there is a video game tie in and family-friendly plush toys.
Romance? Nooooo she wouldn’t – that is just cruel. Blinking at Amelia she thought ‘ You and I are way past the bodice-ripping stages of our lives. No one with abs is sneaking through our garden gate.’ At this point, Stella was far less worried about the Deviant Duke of CastleWaterBridge tingling her nether regions and more concerned about her superannuation being ravaged by inflation.
Oh no.
No no no no no.
Stella could no longer force her smile as she choked back waves of nausea.
She helplessly stood in front of Amelia holding the #1 New York Times best-selling self-help book.
You shouldn’t have!
“They will want you seated, conformed, and quiet but don’t you dare fit in. Scream the house down if it’s what it will take to make your noise heard. The divine feminine has been shamed and shunned for self-expression for far too long, we aren’t here to silence ourselves anymore.”
―
Moral of the Story:
Contrary to our modern misconception, a Goddess is not a woman who possesses more sex appeal than mere mortal women. This idea was perpetuated by the early Hollywood film industry, which portrayed some of its female stars as ‘Goddesses’ – leading them to be worshiped as muses. The resulting legacy left many women feeling less than divine by comparison… something corporations have traded on ever since. This is one of the main reasons women develop a template of “hyper-independence” because at a young age, she is taught never to need anything from anyone. To always have it “together.” To never ask for what she wants. To not be “too much.” On the outside, these women typically appear to have it all together. However, internally she is burnt out. Her body is rigid/aching. Her mental energy is overwhelming. She yearns to feel her feminine flow, to be loved and to be protected. Women crave emotional safety. It’s how she feels cherished. It’s how she feels chosen. It’s how she feels special. It is possible to remain connected to your feminine essence as you do masculine things. Have your goals. Complete tasks. Accomplish what needs to be done but do not lose the connection to your feminine essence and the very thing that makes you feel like a powerful woman.
Our ego-based culture is both reactive and judgmental since we’re conditioned to view life from the mind rather than the heart. Right now, the world needs strong, healthy, feminine women. The term, ‘sacred feminine’ simply refers to the conscious expression of all feminine traits, qualities, and values that are essential to balance the whole, and are therefore holy. Ancient Goddess teachings and traditions focused on self-knowledge through the gaining of wisdom. Wisdom teachings were highly prized, ritualistic customs developed to help people grow their wisdom. She is the gatekeeper of deep intuitive wisdom. She is the ocean that guides the ship. She is the wind that blows through the trees. She is the whisper of love when all hope is lost. She brings softness and nourishment to the cold and rigid masculine world we have created. She brings deep compassion and understanding. She brings healing and transformation. Her radiance inspires men to step into their full masculine strength. The energy of the sacred feminine embodies the nurturer, the healer, the compassionate peacemaker, while the masculine energy is focused on doing and achieving. They are meant to complement and support each other. They are the yin and yang. Both polarities are needed if we are to find our way forward.
“The separation of feminine and masculine has torn us into pieces. The balance of feminine and masculine will bring us back to peace”
―
Affirmation: It is wonderful to be a powerful woman!
I love and approve of myself and I trust the process of life. I am important. I count. I now care for and nourish myself with love and with joy. I use my power wisely. I am willing to change all patterns of criticism. I am strong. I am safe and there is time and space for everything I need to do. I am at peace. I centre myself in safety and accept the perfection of my life. I take in and give out nourishment in perfect balance. I allow others the freedom to be who they are. I am safe and loved and totally supported. In my world, I am my own authority because I am the only one who thinks in my mind. I breathe in life fully. I relax and trust the flow and the process of life. I am both powerful and desirable; intelligent and intuitive. I rejoice in the Sacred Feminine. I love my body. As I release control to the universe, all pressure dissolves. I now choose to make my life light and easy and joyful. I move forward with confidence and joy, knowing that all is well in my future. I look for love and find it everywhere. Thank you for blessing me with untold feminine gifts.
“What is a Wanderess? Bound by no boundaries, contained by no countries, tamed by no time, she is the force of nature’s course.”
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