“I want to live my life in such a way that when I get out of bed in the morning, the devil says, “aw shit, he’s up!” ~ Steve Maraboli Unapologetically You: Reflections on Life and the Human Experience
I’ve long denied a devil exists. But, can I just call it dark forces, ego, or the lowest part of humanity which lives, even in me?
She woke me up at 3 am to tell me how stupid I am—a useless failure who should just commit suicide—because of all the time I’ve wasted, which, according to the she-devil dancing in my head, is proof I’ll never make it as a writer.
Therefore, I’ll have to go back to retail hell, or at least the sales game. She reminds me I can’t make a living doing what I love: writing, teaching, and yoga.
At 3:15 am, she-devil helps me compare myself to women I love in a way that makes me feel smaller.
I’m staying in a friend’s home, crying and ashamed of crying, hiding, trying not to make noise and wishing to shrink under the sheets of shame.
The she-devil is my own self-hatred. Hatred for my own humanity fueled by fear of too much reality outside myself which I can’t stop reading, thinking, and wanting to scream about. I can’t let the devil drag me into fear about our country and society, which seems so obvious to me. (The ship called America isn’t just sinking; She’s on fire!)
That’s too dire to think about at his hour. I want to sleep so I can be a better version of me tomorrow.
I pray to God to help me, angels to surround me, and guides to direct me.
I forgive myself.
Sarah says uncomfortability is part of being a woman. We keep looking for the one thing to take the longing of our hearts away. No man, no child, job, house, or thing outside of ourselves can do that for us.
Ahh yes, it’s true. We have our moments, even seasons of contentedness, but they tend to be fleeting.
So, what if I made space for the distress? What if I acknowledged the she-devil trying to distract me and bring me down?
I see you, B! You’re the part of me called insecurity, the one who lurks in the background with certainty. The same certainty I held as a toddler and a kindergartener when my mother stared down at me screaming, “Alice Ann, you’re not stupid!” over something I’d done, proving I was the thing she wanted me not to be.
I’m an adult now. I’ve done my work. And still, the she-devil lurks. It’s okay.
It’s part of being human and especially a woman. I’m a woman of faith—the kind that doesn’t fit in a box, the kind who believes in a God bigger than a book written by men.
I believe in LOVE. I love myself. I forgive myself. I bless myself. And I rise.
Well, in this case, I fall asleep, surrendering to dreams and the belief I’m okay, even in the uneasiness.
I no longer deny the devil exists—both as the she-devil who’d derail my divine desires and the he-devil who’d drive our country off a cliff with glee.
I also believe in something bigger: the best of me, my divine internal fire, my sweet soul who loves, even when it’s challenging.
I believe in the light arriving like morning within my heart, mind, society, and the world.
I turn to the light, to the love, in the dark night. I pray to be used for good.
Angels kiss my cheek and I go back to sleep, knowing I’m awakening through the agony and with humanity.