I apologize for this letter having taken this long, but I wanted to say this: thank you.

Thank you for showing me what it means to be on fire. For showing me that I am fierce when pushed, capable of a wild and deep howling when a line has been crossed. Thank you for showing me my limits. For nudging me to assess what it is I desire, for exposing what I stand for, and for showing me, for better or worse, what it is I am willing to compromise.

Thank you for swooping in at the last moment, every time. For roaring loudly when my compassion, patience, and understanding has led me to a loss of boundaries. Thank you for sharing your voice after each attempt I made to silence you. After every time I failed to recognize your existence and your purpose. You are persistent in your mission to deliver messages from the psyche; I love and respect you for this determination.

Thank you for faithfully being a beacon of the soul and for showing me strength. Thank you for having my back when it has felt that the world and I are at odds.

Another thing: I am sorry. Again, I am sorry it has taken this long for me to see you for what you are. I was raised to be a good girl, and good girls, I was taught, were never to raise their voices. It is a good thing I am becoming a wild woman now.

I am sorry for not listening to the depths of what you spoke. To the things you said you needed. I am sorry for judging you. For never asking, with patience, what it was you were howling for. I am sorry for turning you into sadness as if your message was a thing to be pitied. As if you were powerless. I never acknowledged the strength in your fire.

Sinking into the truth of your existence, I have begun to see you for what you are — a teacher, a lover, a messenger, an opportunity for growth. I found a goddess in your wake; a forgotten strength uncovered in the depths of the womb. A divine feminine knowing about when to hold and when to let go. When to fight and when to surrender. When to howl and when to rest into stillness — into peace, faith, patience, and trust. Thank you for opening the door to this wisdom.

Despite having witnessed your beauty, too much of you is not a good thing. Your existence within me cannot last forever — not indefinitely. I would be unhappy if you did, so now it is time for me to let you go. For me to step forward while I practice the art of confidence, self-respect, and intuitive listening. While I practice speaking my truth with courage before calling you for backup.

Thank you for having a purpose but not being the purpose. I want to heal not hold. I want to lay this — you — to rest. I heard your message, loud and clear as thunderstruck the heart, and I honor it. I honor you and what you stand for, but I am moving on now.

This is a love letter to you for exposing some truth to me. For being a guide to facilitate exploration of my inner landscape — a light shone on my desires, my limits, my boundaries, my needs, my insecurities, my fears, and my dreams. Thank you for this exposure.

I love you, but I will not be your forever person. Thank you for being a part of but not defining me. In the wake of your fire, barren lands rest patiently, waiting to be reborn. With gratitude, I release you so that new shoots may bloom. With love, I leave you, forging my way into wilder, wiser pastures.