A post that mentions the new book The Sisters Grimm, with musings on life

I wandered around Barnes and Noble a few Sundays ago and found this delightful book. It's the story of four sisters who don't remember that they are sisters, or that they spent their childhood in a magical place where they could control the elements of earth, fire, water, and air.

I loved every moment of this book.

But what I really got from it is from the last story in the book. It's a retelling of the Goldilocks tale. Stories about girls often relay the message that we need to be good and nice, so we can be liked. This comes at the cost of being ourselves, because we are laughing too loud or enjoying ourselves too much for the world to approve. Our need to be liked, to be nice, strips us of our most essential self. The self that doesn't fit in the box. The self that says yes when she wants to say no.

Fuck that.

I don't want to be liked anymore. I don't want to be nice anymore. Being nice strips me of being present. It has gotten me in shitty situations that I now refer to as "pickles" in therapy. Being nice kept me from telling my mom things that I should have. It kept me from using my power to stop other situations. Every time I said yes when I meant no got me further along a path that eventually made me realize I couldn't go back, which made a big yes not a yes but a inevitability that I couldn't get out of.

I want to be loved, not liked.

I want to be kind, not nice. Because kind people have boundaries and aren't worried about pleasing others at the cost of themselves.

I may lose people along the way. If they like me but don't love me, that's ok. If they want the nice me, not the kind one who stands up for herself, that's ok too.

I'm a little bit dark in with my light.

Two quotes from the book. The first on gives nothing away, the second gives away some.

We each feel the darkness at our fingertips. We feel the twitch. The flares. We've shared it, as all sisters should, so none of us has too much. But then non of us has a little either. It's there. We don't use it. Well, only on occasion, when necessary. Or when we can't control it. But we are moderate. And nothing terrible happens. At least, it hasn't yet.

 And this one, that makes my soul swoon.

We remind them, over and over again, of their limitless potential, so they won't forget. For, even though they'll no longer have to fight the Devil when they turn eighteen, the potential danger of the stray soldiers remains, and there'll be many battles in their lives that'll require great strength.

We warn them of what's to come in their teenage years, that they will be tethered to Earth, their ankles tied by ropes of doubt and fear. We tell them to write letters and take photographs...and the night before their thirteenth birthdays, we offer to tattoo their wrist. Most get a symbol of their particular power: a flame, a drop of water, a feather, a leaf. Underneath we inscribe these words:

YOU ARE STRONGER THAN YOU SEEM

BRAVER THAN YOU FEEL

WISER THAN YOU BELIEVE. 

I choose imperfect me. The one who cackles and has frizzy hair most of the time. The me who is learning to say no when I want to. The me who can take up space in this world and not apologize for it (at least out loud, and maybe one day not in my head either.) Who loves her imperfect, human body.

Love you. No, I'm not saying "love you!" like you are leaving and I'm sending you a farewell wish. Love the you that is you. Take up space. Learn to own the right to be here, and to have. Take care of you and your people and love them fiercely.