Untied.
- Red
- Jan 31
- 2 min read
Updated: Feb 2
"Growth is messy,
for her at least.
She doesn't grow gracefully.
No, her soul doesn't stretch like the lithe limbs of a prime-ballerina.
Her soul does mouth open yawns with drool and squinty eyes, as she awakens to her new level of evolution.
She lurches clumsily into the delivery room of her growth, she trips and lays sprawled out on the floor, legs akimbo.
That's her soul's journey.
She's dragged around her former skin for ages now, she knows it does not really fit anymore, but it moulds to her.
She tries it on for size a few times more, before she has to have it prized out of her hands.
She's reassured that the new skin will fit better, will be a truer reflection of who she is.
She is warned not to hold on too tightly to that one either.
She wonders how many layers there are?!
Is it like one of those childhood games? Pass the parcel.
You don't know when the music will stop or when next layer will be removed.
If you are lucky, you find the gift with each layer that's torn away.
Some layers are gently unwrapped, other layers yanked off so quickly that the gift is almost lost in the discarded wrappers.
The music slows as you get closer to the prize at the core.
There are the inevitable tears,
the "it's not fair" protests,
the disappointment
the hope and expectation
the anger
and the rage.
There's the getting close but realising...it's still just out of reach,
the others getting it instead,
the someone snatching it quickly away.
There's the despair, the loss, the devastation.
Then there are the gems of open handed,
open hearted kindness
and the generosity
and then there is the delight!
Growth is messy...
for this soul at least.
It's uncomfortable and uncertain,
it's a face down in the dirt
snotty cry
nose wiped across the face with the back of the hand,
it's a getting back up on unsteady legs,
unsure of the ground beneath,
it's a dusting off,
an acknowledgement of injuries,
a flexing of the muscles,
a big deep breath
and then a...
let's go again!'
So true! Real change isn’t a glow-up montage — it’s more like emotional demolition. You don’t just add a “new you,” you lose a version that once kept you safe. Even if that version was coping badly, self-sabotaging, numbing out, people-pleasing, staying small… it still had a job. Letting it go can feel like grief. I love how you write Red!