She must be nourished to bloom: Filling our inner, creative feminine to the brim.
I forgot about Her.
I was taught to, after all. Because in a world that worships the grind, where success is measured in relentless output, I learned to earn my place through doing.
So I counted my worth in accomplishments, in the rigidity of discipline, in how well I could override exhaustion. Rest became an indulgence laced with guilt. Pleasure was a distant reward, postponed indefinitely, perpetually at the bottom of my to-list.
But in starving Her, I starved myself. The source of my sacred life-force—Her. The creative Feminine within. And when She withers, so does the color in my world, the richness of my life, the vital pulse of my creativity itself.
Creation is not just about making art. We are always creating. Our relationships. Our homes. Our businesses. Our experiences. Our very lives. We are in a perpetual state of birthing something into being—whether through inspired action fueled by love or unconscious habit fueled by fear. When we create from a nourished place of fullness, from love, from the spark of passion, what we bring to life pulses with the our life force and truth of who we are.
When we conceive a child, we do not engineer her, do not busy ourselves designing who she is to become. We simply nourish her. We create a space for her unfolding, with patience, and we yield to the intelligence of divine creation. Who she becomes is her sacred contract between her and the Divine. And when she is ready, we birth her—breathtakingly in her perfect beauty, far surpassing the limits of our imagination of what we would be.
The same is true for all that we create. Our desires, our dreams—they are seeds waiting for nourishment, for space, for love. They need a soft, protective place to take root, free from expectation, from the pressure to become anything other than who we were born to be.
This is HER: Your intuition. The wisdom of your emotions. The sacred current of knowing that runs through your being. She speaks in soft whispers. She does not chase, nor does She force. She receives. Without Her, I was untethered, severed from my own wisdom and creativity. Without Her, I could not hear the quiet truths rising in the spaces between my mind’s busy thoughts. Without Her, I had no one compass to lead me home to myself.
I had drowned her voice beneath the weight of self-criticism, buried her beneath the pressure to be better, faster, more. I ignored my body’s desperation for rest, softness, dismissed my desires as frivolous, exiled my emotions to the farthest corners of my being. I wore my depletion like a badge of honor, mistaking burnout for devotion.
Until one day, I simply couldn’t anymore. My soul rebelled. Something inside me whispered, Enough. Stop. Just stop. Trust.
And even though I had to push down my panic in order to pause, to stop controlling, to step away from the frantic momentum of everything I was trying to build—I stopped and waited. Because something deep within me knew—what I was constructing stood on shaky ground, its foundation cracking under the weight of fear, scarcity, and self-harm.
What followed was a descent into deep non-doing. No pushing. No forcing. I sat in the discomfort of my own stillness, watching as I did nothing. I did not produce. I did not strive. I simply was. And it felt very unsafe. Like I was sinking into oblivion. But I held myself steady in the fertile darkness of the unknown, resisting the urge to force my way back to productivity. I had planted the seed of a new way of being, and I needed to wait.
Because this is the nature of the Feminine. She does not bloom on demand. She unfolds in divine timing, beyond logic, beyond force. She roots first in the unseen, stretching her tendrils through the unknown. But she must be well-nourished to bloom.
And in that stillness, the truth emerged that I had sacrificed my gifts, my creativity, myself to the illusion that I had to earn my place. That my value was tethered to my usefulness. That if I was not constantly proving myself, I was worthless.
So I made a promise to Her: I would never again create from fear. I would never again whip myself into motion just to outrun the discomfort of simply being.
The genius of our creative Feminine thrives when She is fed. With beauty. With inspiration. With embodied pleasure. With acceptance of all her feelings and textures- the rough and raw as well as the silky smooth. With deep, aching desire that is honored, felt, savored, loved. Within the spaciousness of the dark unknown—the rich, sacred fertile void within that is brimming with our potency and potential. The place where we nourish and birth our Divinely-given brilliance.
She is you.
So tell me- are you feeding Her?
Comments