The Wild One
She is the forest in your blood. The howl you swallowed to stay “good”.
At some point, you learned a twisted rule: being loved meant being smaller. Not softer — smaller. Easier to carry. Easier to predict. Easier to approve.
You didn’t do it because you were weak. You did it because you were trained. You read the room. You learned the price of being “too much”. You swallowed instinct. You made yourself agreeable and called it maturity.
But here’s what they don’t tell you when they hand you “goodness” like a leash: every time you shrink, something in you starts to snarl. Not sadness. Not self-pity. Anger. The clean, ancient anger of a creature that knows it was born to run.
The Wild One didn’t die. She went quiet — the way a wolf goes quiet when it’s waiting for the right moment. She has been collecting every time you betrayed yourself to keep the peace. Every “it’s fine” you didn’t mean. Every apology you offered just to stop the tension.
This mirror is not polite. It won’t soothe you with pretty advice. It asks one brutal question: Where did you abandon yourself to stay acceptable?
This is where the leash breaks
You didn’t become smaller by accident. You were rewarded for it. Praised for being “mature”. Loved for being “easy”. Kept close as long as you stayed readable, manageable, convenient.
And you learned fast: when you took up space, someone tightened the room around you. A look. A joke. A lesson. A punishment wrapped in concern. So you adapted. Not because you were weak — because you were intelligent. You survived the rules you never agreed to.
But survival has a cost: you started trusting other people’s version of you more than your own. Family. Teachers. Lovers. Friends. You let them name your volume. You let them decide what was “too much”. And the part of you that knew better went quiet — not dead. Waiting.
This mirror does not ask you to forgive them. It asks you to stop collaborating with the lie. Not tomorrow. Not when it’s safe. Now.
- Put your feet on the floor and feel the weight. Here.
- Inhale through the nose. Hold for a count of three. Don’t soften it.
- Exhale and let one sound out — a low breath, a hiss, a growl. Private. Real.
- Say (out loud if you can): “I’M DONE BEING DIGESTIBLE!!!”
If nothing happens instantly — good. That means you’re not performing. Wildness is not a costume. It’s a return of permission.
Let your animal wake
Sit or stand in a way that feels grounded. Let your feet find the floor. You are not performing. You are returning.
Now:
- Clench your jaw once. Feel the pressure. Then let it drop, just a little.
- Make fists with both hands. Hold for 5 slow breaths. Feel the heat in your fingers.
- On the exhale, open your hands as if you were letting something fall — an apology, a promise, a lie you are tired of living.
You do not have to “look wild”. The point is internal: feel the part of you that is done being domesticated.
Let this mirror hold what you never said out loud: names, places, moments where you knew you were betraying yourself just to keep the air calm.
Stand in front of yourself
Read (or remember) what you just wrote — then close your eyes and let one question land without negotiating with it:
- What did that younger, wilder version of you actually want in that moment?
- What boundary were you trying to hold — but you dropped to keep being “liked”?
- Where are you still repeating the same pattern, even now, even today?
You do not have to fix your whole life tonight. The Wild One doesn’t need a five-year plan. She needs one act of loyalty — small, real, immediate.
Before you leave this mirror: place one hand on your chest and whisper, even if your voice shakes:
“I will not abandon you again just to be easy for others.”
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