Last night Leeton came home and mentioned again that people are talking about me.
They are worried about him.
Worried about how hard it must be for him to be married to someone as public as me.
That poor man.
Married to a woman that is clearly TOO MUCH
Married to a woman they feel has forgotten that I’m supposed to care more for his comfort than my souls desires and greater purpose in life.
And my mind flashed back to all those years I tried not to be too much.
All those years I lived thinking more about what my man and men needed me to be than what I was here to be.
All those years I put my body on display because that’s all I thought they wanted from me. My mind was something I needed to crush.
All those years I spent playing wife to a man that was sleeping with prostitutes – not behind my back – because I knew. I knew. I just felt like that was my cue to be more for him.
All those years I excused his physical abuse, his right to my body whenever and however he wanted it.
His right to disappear on me. I’d be waiting.
All those years I crushed my dreams to allow enough space for him to have his.
All those years people told me I should have stayed because now we were having a baby I had little right to leave.
All those years of trying to please and do what it took to be lovable that landed me in more pain than I wish upon you – my haters.
I suffered for a reason.
I had things to learn and pass on.
I flash back to how hard I have fought to find this woman inside of me that can say NO, that box is not for me and NO I don’t need anything but what I am in this world. I don’t deserve pain simply because I don’t fit.
I flash back to hard I fight every single day to keep showing up for myself, for my daughters and for woman kind.
How hard I will fight and put myself out there to let it be seen and known that women don’t exist to please a man.
Women don’t need to play small to make sure everyone else is comfortable
We don’t belong back in our box
We aren’t required to be matyr’s of service to all but our own souls.
WE GET TO BE AS TOO MUCH AS WE DAMN WELL PLEASE AND THEN SOME MORE.
And by Christ am I happy that I learnt these lessons fast enough to get out of where I was and find myself where I am now.
In the arms of a man who can hold me while I cry for womankind and quiver as I say this shits gotta change
All woman deserve men like the one I have now.
A man that looks at me and says to me just with his eyes and his hugs – you’re doing such wonderful things, rising people up, tearing down walls and stigmas and status quo’s and being seen and real – so real people are going to try and take that soft spot and tear you down, just know I’m not one of them. I see who they are and I see who you are and I chose you.
My mind then settles back in on this poem.
A poem I wish I wrote.
Because there is nothing more I could have said
This passage is my everything 💕
There she is. . . the “too much” woman. The one who loves too hard, feels too deeply, asks too often, desires too much.
There she is taking up too much space, with her laughter, her curves, her honesty, her sexuality. Her presence is as tall as a tree, as wide as a mountain. Her energy occupies every crevice of the room. Too much space she takes.
There she is causing a ruckus with her persistent wanting, too much wanting. She desires a lot, wants everything—too much happiness, too much alone time, too much pleasure. She’ll go through brimstone, murky river, and hellfire to get it. She’ll risk all to quell the longings of her heart and body. This makes her dangerous.
She is dangerous.
And there she goes, that “too much” woman, making people think too much, feel too much, swoon too much. She with her authentic prose and a self-assuredness in the way she carries herself. She with her belly laughs and her insatiable appetite and her proneness to fiery passion. All eyes on her, thinking she’s hot shit.
Oh, that “too much” woman. . . too loud, too vibrant, too honest, too emotional, too smart, too intense, too pretty, too difficult, too sensitive, too wild, too intimidating, too successful, too fat, too strong, too political, too joyous, too needy—too much.
She should simmer down a bit, be taken down a couple notches. Someone should put her back in a more respectable place. Someone should tell her.
Here I am. . . the Too Much Woman, with my too-tender heart and my too-much emotions.
A hedonist, feminist, pleasure seeker, empath. I want a lot—justice, sincerity, spaciousness, ease, intimacy, actualization, respect, to be seen, to be understood, your undivided attention, and all of your promises to be kept.
I’ve been called high maintenance because I want what I want, and intimidating because of the space I occupy. I’ve been called selfish because I am self-loving. I’ve been called a witch because I know how to heal myself.
And still. . . I rise. Still, I want and feel and ask and risk and take up space.
Us Too Much Women have been facing extermination for centuries—we are so afraid of her, terrified of her big presence, of the way she commands respect and wields the truth of her feelings. We’ve been trying to stifle the Too Much Woman for ions—in our sisters, in our wives, in our daughters. And even now, even today, we shame the Too Much Woman for her bigness, for her wanting, for her passionate nature.
And still. . . she thrives.
In my own world and before my very eyes, I am witnessing the reclamation and rising up of the Too Much Woman. That Too Much Woman is also known to some as Wild Woman or the Divine Feminine. In any case, she is me, she is you, and she is loving that she’s finally, finally getting some airtime.
If you’ve ever been called “too much,” or “overly emotional,” or “bitchy,” or “stuck up,” you are likely a Too Much Woman.
And if you are. . . I implore you to embrace all that you are—all of your depth, all of your vastness; to not hold yourself in, and to never abandon yourself, your bigness, your radiance.
Forget everything you’ve heard—your too much-ness is a gift; oh yes, one that can heal, incite, liberate, and cut straight to the heart of things.
Do not be afraid of this gift, and let no one shy you away from it. Your too much-ness is magic, is medicine. It can change the world…
So please, Too Much Woman: Ask. Seek. Desire. Expand. Move. Feel. Be.
Make your waves, fan your flames, give us chills.
We need you.
By Ev’Yan Whitney