Woman, consider this your official permission slip.
You are allowed to take time to nurture yourself. You can do what feels good for you, JUST for you –
for no other reason except that you f**king feel like it. It’s. Your. Life.
You have permission to rest, to do sweet sweet nothing at all.
You can stare into space, watch the birds, to let your body soften and relax. To just simply be… and breathe.
It has been decided (by the powers that be or someone appropriate) that you are eligible to cry as much as you like, to be sad, to release. Or to be angry. To have freak outs and break downs and break throughs.
You’ve been granted an All-Access-VIP-Pass to the unchartered wilderness within your own body.
Your body is yours to explore, discover, learn about and nourish with touch, love and movement.
You have a license to dance like a wild thing pretty much whenever you damn please. To let bliss & aliveness fill you to the tips of your fingers & toes, to unleash the fullness of who you are just because it’s fun & you love it.
You’ve been stamped with the rubber stamp of approval to be able to experience immense joy in daily life –
using your senses to take in all the juicy deliciousness of your world.
You have a permit for play, permission to be silly and ridiculous, to muck around and joke inappropriately.
You’ve been gifted the freedom to giggle and laugh until your belly hurts for absolutely no legitimate reason at all.
You have also been approved to experience untold pleasure in your body through the pathway of your sexuality and your lusciously alive Yoni (vagina) – uncovering layer upon layer of cosmically orgasmic bliss, if you feel like, that is.
(This bit can take some practice, but it’s totally my specialty, so stick with me if you’re curious!)
You are lucky enough to have front row seats to The Greatest Show on Earth.
The one that happens inside you and within you and around you.
In all ways.