My dragon is gone.
She’s gone.
Not sure where I left her—probably somewhere between that outrageous rage outbreak when the captain refused to let me off the boat (haha).
He got all of it.
Every spark.
Every flame.
Every piece of my absolutely-not-today energy.
And honestly?
Yeah… I think she needed to roar.
I think she needed to burn something that had clearly overstayed its welcome.
Because on the other side of that fiery, messy, totally human moment…
I’m f*cking free now.
And grateful.
So deeply grateful.
Rage as Liberation
There’s a myth we’re sold about healing — that it’s always soft, quiet, and graceful. That growth comes wrapped in incense and deep breaths.
But sometimes liberation is loud.
Sometimes it’s inconvenient.
Sometimes it’s a dragon losing her shit, clearing a path with fire, so the woman can finally walk forward unburdened.
Rage, when it’s honest, isn’t destruction.
It’s information.
It’s life force saying: Enough.
And when it’s allowed to move through — fully, cleanly, without shame — it doesn’t linger.
It does its job and disappears into smoke.
Wherever she went, I know this much:
She protected me.
She freed me.
She made space.
And now, I walk lighter.
Not because I’m softer —
but because I’m no longer carrying what wasn’t mine to hold.
🔥 Some seasons require a dragon.
Others begin after she’s done burning the door open.
✨ If you’re in a season of shedding, reclaiming, or remembering your own fire — without getting lost in it — you’re welcome here:
👉 https://slow-secrets-tribe.kit.com/starthere
