Not That Kind of Girl

I have said it before.

I do not believe that there is a such thing as ‘that kind of girl.’

Proof: I have been thousands of different women, all while keeping this form.

I have been wild. Undefined and without boundaries. A darker exploration of lawlessness. An identity that I was not monogamous with. I have also been soft, empathetic and with a simple code. Sharp and dry-witted, accepting and effervescent. Someone you may have been drawn to, someone you may have been adverse to.

In the event of being at a loss of who you are, I find that it is worthwhile to reflect on what you have been, and the space that you want to expand into.

It is a part of growing. The separation of experiences and selves throughout time. The constant shedding of that which does not serve our higher interests. At least, it has been for me. I cannot tell you how many ‘women’ that I have tried on, stepped within their realities, before finding that none of them reflected the way that I wanted to live. I came to see all of the identities that I have claimed in the past. Roles and personas that I saw as my entire purpose. My life. Until they no longer held space in the present, and instead left as unattached memories.

Identities that have since become just stories. Assumptions which have since become a lifeless recall. An invisible scar. There should be a word for this point of transition. For the novelty of importance to be rehomed. The detachment from the beliefs that did not stimulate growth.