The realization that even people who love us deeply can never experience our inner world exactly as we do. But perhaps intimacy isn’t about being understood completely. Maybe it’s about finding someone willing to keep exploring.

Who decided femininity had to be soft? For a long time, I had a narrow idea of what it meant to be feminine. Soft, gentle, nurturing, graceful, comforting, calm, predictable. Somewhere along the way, I associated those qualities with being a “good woman.” The kind considered wife material. And without realizing it, I started suppressing parts of myself because I believed they couldn’t coexist. But what about the ambitious, independent, outspoken, strong-willed parts? Or the wild, playful, provocative, curious, mischievous ones? The part that loves tenderness and the part that craves intensity, excitement, and novelty. The part that wants to surrender and the part that wants to take control. The innocent, the sensual, and the slightly crazy, naughty side. And what about our darker corners? Our desires, fantasies, contradictions, and things we barely admit to ourselves? Do those make us any less feminine? Any less worthy of being loved and chosen? I’m realizing how much of my understanding of femininity came from expectations of what a woman should be, rather than discovering who I actually am. Why should being a good partner mean being agreeable, predictable, or easy to handle? Why should embracing one side of ourselves mean suppressing another? I don’t have all the answers yet. But I’m beginning to believe femininity is less about embodying a particular energy and more about embracing the full spectrum of who we are. Without shame for the parts that don’t fit the ideal. The soft and the fierce. The nurturing and the rebellious. The innocent and the wicked. The light and the dark. Maybe they don’t have to compete. Maybe I don’t have to choose between being a good woman and being fully myself. Maybe becoming more feminine isn’t about becoming softer. Maybe it’s about becoming more fully myself. 💗 Have you ever felt you had to hide parts of yourself to be considered a “good woman”?

For years, I thought I was “just a dancer.” But even that identity had already changed so many times. It started with ballet. For years, that was the thing, who I was, what I trained for. Then surgery forced me to adapt, to learn completely different styles. And eventually came aerial acrobatics. Again, my brain went: But I’m not an acrobat. Other people had trained since they were children. I was starting late. Surely they’d be better. Surely they’d judge me. I learned anyway. Eventually, I was performing aerial professionally on stages like this one. Maybe that should have been my first clue: I was never “just” anything. I was really good at learning and adapting. But the bigger limiting belief showed up when I looked outside of performing. I had no traditional education in any of those fields, and I felt insecure the moment I stepped outside the industry. Performing was proof I was good at something. Outside of it, I genuinely questioned if I was qualified to do anything else. Then people started taking chances on me, and reflecting things back I hadn’t learned to see in myself, how fast I learned, my creativity, my perspective. And something I’d never considered a strength: my energy. My curiosity, drive, this stubborn will to figure things out. Slowly, I stopped measuring my potential by what I’d studied or done before. Once I dropped that box, curiosity took me through: Ballet → commercial dance → aerial acrobatics → environmental activism → sustainability consulting → digital art & NFTs → investing → crypto marketing → content creation → design → forex trading → real estate. Some became careers. Some, skills. Some, passions. Some stayed hobbies. Some I’m still exploring. None of them required me to stop being everything I was before.