permission

It’s okay.

You’ve known who you are for years. A woman who relishes solitude and freedom to move through life untethered. You wrestle with describing and depicting it. Sometimes you nail it with eloquence. Often you’re standing on a table in a crowded room shrieking at an uninterested audience. You’ve examined yourself. You’ve observed the world. You’ve tried to find places and people who will have you, this you who needs solitude and space. You’ve justified it. To your mother. To your friends. To your lovers. To your blog readers. To the messy pages of your journal.

I need you to know it’s okay.

This is who you’ve always been. You have my permission to be it.

By all means, express yourself. Feed your curiosity about other women who prefer solitude to companionship. Soak up their stories; find bits of yourself in them. Tell the world what you discover in learning and living.

But step away from the judge’s bench. Close your briefcase. Leave the courtroom. Case closed.

Go live.

Published by

a girl named rob

I used to be "skinny black girl." I'm now a slender woman on the other side of 35 with no new moniker who is not quite interested in writing under her given name. Still writing my life, a day (or some months) at a time. Also, still black.

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