The Too Much Woman

This is taken from another source but it is one of the most inspiring pieces I’ve ever read. I want to memorize it as a dramatic monologue.

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.

I must.

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.

Don’t believe me? Check this: All of your favorite women, the ones who’ve made history, the ones who’ve lent their voices for change and have courageously given themselves permission to be exactly who they are, are too much women.

So please, Too Much Woman: Ask. Seek. Desire. Expand. Move. Feel. Be.

Make your waves, fan your flames, give us chills.

Please, rise.
We need you.

Author: Ev’Yan Whitney

For me

My estranged husband sent me this today:

 

Miss Petrova
You call and I’m coming over
There is something to be said for growing older
I can’t think of what it is right now
Maybe if we sit down I can force it out
Miss Petrova
Excuses aren’t going to win you over
And there’s a science to the politics of order
So smash your faith and flail your heart
Whatever makes you feel better at all
(I’ll Reach on up into the sun and pull the curtains over)
Whatever takes the edge off
Whatever helps you get on
You know I miss you more than anything
Or anybody else
(Ill reach on up into the sun and pull the curtain over)
Whatever gets you through
No matter what I do
You know I miss you more than anything
Miss Petrova
Come and lay with me here on the sofa
I only wanted to have tried to smooth things over
You’ve scratched your name into the dark
Whatever makes you feel better at all
(I’ll Reach on up into the sun and pull the curtains over)
Whatever takes the edge off
Whatever helps you get on
You know I miss you more than anything
Or anybody else
(Ill reach on up into the sun and pull the curtain over)
Whatever gets you through
No matter what I do
You know I miss you more than anything
Ordinarily nothing fazes me
Ordinarily nothing scares the hell out of me
Miss Petrova
You call and I’m coming over
There is something to be said for growing older
I can’t think of what it is right now
Maybe if we sit down I can force it out
(I’ll Reach on up into the sun and pull the curtains over)
Whatever takes the edge off
Whatever helps you get on
You know I miss you more than anything
Or anybody else
(Ill reach on up into the sun and pull the curtain over)
Whatever gets you through
No matter what I do
You know I miss you more than anything
(2X)

I’m not sure if it is an adaptation of a song or if he wrote it. But I feel cared for and protected.

Love Poem

Sent to me as we are trying to communicate:

Love is true.
Love is honest.
I let it consume me.
I live in it.
I share love with you.
You share love with me.
Love is commitment.
Love is understanding.

So let it be written.
So let it be done.
Love is the spirit.
Shared with only one.