Wild. Untamed. I love those words.
But they scare me.
I love being in control. It’s essential to my survival. It’s something that I cling to like a lifeline. I don’t just want it. I need it. It’s like I need to be able to breathe.
Depression makes it hard to let go and anxiety makes it nearly impossible. Wild and Untamed give me a little shiver and not entirely in a good way. I wanted to face it anyway. Feel it anyway.
I see the ways that I am untamed. From the outside, I look boring. Really, really boring. I like to spend the majority of my free time reading with a cat on my lap or laying on the floor doing jigsaw puzzles while I drink tea. One does not look at my life and think “There goes a wild one.” Sometimes it’s really hard for me to acknowledge that there’s wildness inside of me. But when I really pay attention?
There is so much wild.
There are so many ways that I am untamed. The way that I laugh too loudly when I find something hilarious and I don’t care. The way I feel when I’m jogging or when I find my ‘zen’ in my yoga practice. Dances I do in happiness or in worship of Aphrodite. My wild, untamed, curly hair. The way I unapologetically love my freckles and celebrate each new one that I find. Sitting outside soaking in the morning sunlight or moon gazing in the middle of the night when everything is so quiet. The way that I love fiercely and completely in everything that I do. The feeling of the dirt in my hands when I garden. My passion for the things I love.
My wild is sometimes a little soft and a lot sweet, but it’s all mine.