A Rebel For A Reason

A Rebel For A Reason

I am developing a true passion for what I am doing.

The things I write. The messages that I pull from the depths of my soul. The words. The feelings. The emotions that I am sending out into the world.

My entire being vibrates with the sensations that I am doing what I was always meant to do.

I know that this is my path. I have always known.

But I never knew how.

I was always jaded by society and what I needed to do or should do or the path I was “supposed” to take.

But I never fully understood and never fully grasped what it meant to have a calling.

I mean, I’d heard of it before. And I’d heard of people being so in love with their work that they would do it for free and just happen to get paid for it.

Authors, speakers, healers, athletes, artists, the list goes on and on…

And where was I in all of this?

Knowing that I was always meant to write.

But I didn’t come from a family of writers… so how was that supposed to be what I was supposed to do?

And I was never good in english class anyway.

Then I took a creative writing course in college and aced it… of course.

But I was there to get my accounting degree, something practical, and writing was not in line with that

…right?

So what was my passion?

Sure, I was good with numbers. They made sense to me. They were black and white. Numbers only give you 1 right answer and that made more sense to me than creating my own answers and having anything be right as long as it was on topic and the grammar was correct.

Aaahhh… and there it is. On topic. I was never meant to write “on topic”.

That was fucking boring. And lacked inspiration. The inspiration I craved.

And even though I wrote privately, journaled mostly, no one ever saw my work anyway.

Because who was I to be a writer?

I was a delinquent. A dropout. A serial dropout, actually.

A rebel. Bad. Follower. I had the wrong friends. I followed the wrong crowd.

I surrounded myself with others just like me.

My alternative family.

The family I chose when my own cast me out. Rejected me. Pushed me away. Didn’t accept who I was at my core.

Couldn’t understand the rage and the pain and the loneliness that lived inside me.

So I found others just like me, who accepted me as I was.

All my flaws, my quirks. They supported me. They loved me. They accepted me.

But we were kids.

All lost. Trying to navigate this world together.

Masking our own pain. Helping to mask each other’s so we wouldn’t feel.

So we couldn’t feel. So we didn’t have to feel.

…misunderstood.

The weight of the world on our shoulders.

The bullshit stories we were told by the adults in our lives – that we weren’t good enough. That we needed to conform. That we were wrong for wanting what we wanted.

To be loved and accepted by our peers when even they looked at us with disgust and judgment.

Because we weren’t like them. We went against the rules.

We challenged authority. We questioned everything adults said to us.

Because that is what kids do.

To develop and grow and become our own persons. Independent in society.

But we were wrong to question anything.

We were told to just…

Fall. in. line.

That our questions weren’t valid.

So we rebelled more. We raged more. We sought more ways to escape this painful reality.

That we couldn’t be loved.

That we couldn’t be accepted.

That at every turn, as we challenged the system – the adults, only the adults, were the ones who ever got to be right.

We could not be heard because we were merely children. And children don’t know anything about the world.

Right?

Wrong.

They know a lot, actually. A lot more than we give them credit for.

Children have such a profound and innocent understanding of themselves and the world around them.

Have you ever really stopped to listen?

Without judgment? Without pushing your own thoughts and ideals into their heads?

Have you ever just sat down and listened? Tried to understand their view of the world? And who we need to be in it?

I have learned an incredible amount from my daughter in the 4.5 years she has graced me with while on this planet.

She chose me as her mom for a reason. Her soul was connected to mine before time began.

Her loving, gentle, kind, compassionate, unjaded view of the world through her 4-year old eyes.

She is wise beyond my own understanding sometimes and who am I to question her?

She is a free spirit, grounded in her love for life. Never wanting to miss out on anything.

Feeling my feelings, as she is a young empath too. Creative and bold, fearless and free.

And as I look back and reflect on my own life and the events that led me right here, to this moment, to write these words, to tell this story…

I know I had to go through all that, just to be able to stand up for her.

Take a stand for her when she questions even me. When she starts developing her independence from me.

As she lets go of needing my guidance and starts to follow her own path.

As she begins to question the way of the world and societal rules.

I must remain open and honest with her. Allow her to become exactly who she was always meant to be.

When everyone else tries to tell her that she’s wrong for believing in her heart – I am there to tell her, help her understand that what she holds in her heart to be true. Is true.

That her beliefs are valid.

That she can be/do/have anything in this world exactly the way she wants it. She can call it in. She can receive it. She can manifest it.

And that’s okay.

She doesn’t have to follow the rules.

She can make her own rules.

And that’s okay.

I want her to remain wild and happy and free.

Because she deserves it.

Since before time began, she deserves anything her heart desires.

Just like me.

Just like you.

From my soul to yours,

xo, Amy

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