Storyboard Says ...

There Is No Rescue

'J' [a friend] is right -- he's a facilitator.

No one except me can be the practitioner.

I wrote it a minute ago:

THERE IS NO RESCUE.

I don't want to want rescue, either.

But there is help.

Guidance, suggestion,

advice,

opportunity by association.

It's incumbent on me to make use of all that.

Flight or grounding, coccoon or wings -

that choice will always and only be my own. 

If I crave autonomy in the most authentic way,

then I have to do the work myself. 

Then and only then do I own the lessons,

 and the resultant life,

firsthand.

Saying "yes" is part of that.

Saying "no" is, also.

Oddly, neither is easy or certain. 

Some choices are wholly instinct-driven.

This (above) is not the fantasy I want anymore.

Rescue.

Choice based on safety

or habit

or externally defined

mindsets

and

traditions.

The cost of rescue is

servitude of some sort

to the rescuer.

Safety is a cage.

Norms don't allow

individuation or growth

for any of those involved.

All of it is like

voluntarily

lacing up concrete shoes

&

kissing flight goodbye.

No!

No!

No!

It's not my ambition to be a 'lady.'

I strive to be

A Woman,

of the singular sort:

Me!  Self!

Love me or not,

but retaining my wholeness regardless.

I'm earning that right,

bit by bit,

tiny baby step by tiny baby step,

choice by conscious choice,

walking ahead even with fear in tow.

Fear,

as it turns out,

can be an awesome catalyst,

if allowed.

Yes.

Or no.

MY voice.

It is past the time

to question

everything,

and

to watch

the

real

responses

rise.