Riddle Me This: Reclaiming My Sacred Sovereignty

A surreal depiction of a woman's back, seamlessly merging with vibrant flowers, set against a textured dark background, symbolizing unity with nature.

Why do you ask me to shrink my light,

To bow my head, to fade from sight?

Why must my joy be cloaked in shame,

When my heart beats wild, untamed?

Why is my power called “too much,”

When your world crumbles at my touch?

Why must I smile through life’s dark skies,

When my tears cleanse, when my spirit cries?

Why should I feel less whole, less free,

For choosing a path meant just for me?

Why must I birth to prove my worth,

When my soul’s creation outshines the earth?

Why is my body a battleground,

A canvas judged, a soul unbound?

Why does my truth disturb your peace?

My sovereignty will never cease.

I am not yours to define, control—

I am fire, spirit, flesh, and soul.

Riddle me this, then leave me be—

I am enough. I am free.

here comes a time in every woman’s journey when she pauses to ask: Why?

Why do I feel ashamed for simply existing as I am?Why do I fear expressing my truth, dressing how I please, or walking with unshakable confidence?Why does the world demand my silence while simultaneously feeding off my light?

Let me tell you this, beloved: these questions are not your weakness. They are the seeds of your reclamation. They are the moment you begin to come home to your body, your voice, your womb.

The Violation of Being Seen Without Being Known

There’s a specific ache that lives in the bodies of many women—the wound of being seen as a thing, not a being. Compliments wrapped in dominance. Smiles that scan and strip rather than honor and witness. It is the violation of presence, to be looked at but never truly seen.

This pain is not shallow. It cuts to the root of our sovereignty.

But your body was never created for consumption. Your curves are not currency. Your sensuality is not a sin. It is sacred art, the language of the divine made flesh.

The Shame of Expression

They taught us that modesty was safety. That our beauty was dangerous. That joy, confidence, and pleasure must be earned—or worse, suppressed.

So we muted ourselves. Cloaked ourselves. Cut ourselves down to fit into a world not built for our truth.

But no more.

Let your clothes express your radiance. Let your voice pierce the quiet. Let your eyes carry the knowing of lifetimes. Let your presence be too bright to ignore. Because the way you express yourself is a spell—one that casts remembrance to every woman who sees you and thinks: She is free. Maybe I can be too.

The Burden of “Too Much”

Too sensitive. Too loud. Too passionate. Too intense.The truth is—they weren’t afraid of your “too much.”They were afraid of your power.

You were never too much. You were medicine in the wrong room.

Your intensity is the sacred fire that forges new worlds. Your grief is the ocean that births transformation. Your longing is the compass of the soul. You are not broken—you are breaking free.

The Double Standard of Pleasure and Independence

Let’s speak truth here: A woman in her pleasure—her joy, her sensuality, her independence—is often seen as a threat.

Because she cannot be controlled.

Because she remembers.

Pleasure is your birthright. Whether it’s in how you touch your own skin, how you savor your morning tea, how you create art, how you make love, or how you rest—every act of embodied joy is an act of resistance in a world that told you to suffer.

The Divinity of Choice

You do not need to be a mother to be maternal.You do not need to marry to be loved.You do not need to conform to be accepted.

You are not a vessel for society’s expectations. You are a cosmos of your own making.

Every choice you make is a thread in your sacred tapestry. Whether you birth babies, art, visions, or rituals—you are a creatress, and your path is yours to walk, no permission needed.

A Call to the Womb-Bearers, the Wild Ones, the Warriors of Light

If your body has felt like a battlefield,If your voice has felt like a whisper,If your joy has felt dangerous,You are not alone.

This is not your personal failure.This is a system designed to dim you.

But here, in this moment, you are invited to rise. Not in performance—but in presence.

✨ Place your hands on your womb.✨ Breathe into the space between your ribs.✨ Feel the grief, the rage, the joy, the life that lives there.

Your body remembers what the world tried to make you forget.

You are enough. You are fire. You are free.

Now, I ask you:

• Where have you been told you are too much?

• Where have you silenced yourself to fit in?

• What part of your wild do you long to reclaim?

Write it in your journal. Share it with your sisters. This is your sacred beginning.

Let this blog be more than something you read—let it be a mirror that reflects your truth and a torch that lights your way home.