A woman who does not know her value
Will not believe that others desire to offer attention,
Desire to basque in her glow, her being.
She will employ one of three methods:
Mommy, baby, child, alternating like a merry-go-round—
Woman’s samsara.
Mommy dominates, controls, treats him as a project, mother-hens, fusses, fixes, and calls in his impotence. He becomes the man with potential who “just can’t manage.” This removes him from the pool of attraction for other women. She enfolds him in her energetic wings.
Baby needs. She has a list of maladies, anxieties, griefs, and upsets. She is fragile and excused from adult behavior. He lives in service to this need as a “father.” The need promises to each that if she gets more—attention, rest, care, healing—then she will emerge. He lives in constant vigilance of her state. To maintain these roles, she must show little or no capacity; she gets smaller to keep him bigger.
Little Girl is an object. She is a pretty pony of delight. She knows she has a certain sway and uses it to draw his attention. She employs this to get what she wants when off the mark of purpose. Rather than projecting this out equally to the world, she plays the projection screen. The deal she strikes is that she will be given sanctuary from responsibility and genuine employment of her gifts, provided she never breaks the spell and appears as an adult woman other than as a mommy. This is female narcissism that turns herself on rather than engages in true vulnerability. Here, she can always manage how she appears.
A woman who knows her value, knows what would allow her to stand upright in undeviating fealty to a deeper power, to never conceal her thoughts, tones, and feelings, or perform, contort, or shapeshift to appear according to invisible and visible cues and instructions.
To know who she is uniquely,
And that this is desired, wanted, and needed in the world
There are enough performers, superstars, vixens, cutie pies, beautiful, mysterious women, long-suffering anxious ones, and martyrs, women waiting . . . for a man, for him to grow and handle things, and for it to all let up, for things to get better.
The savior isn’t coming.
She is already here.
She is you.