Power Isn’t Loud. It’s Primal.
This isn't one of my typical blog posts.
You know how I usually write - casual, conversational, like we're grabbing coffee and I'm telling you about my latest realization? This isn't that.
Because the thing about discovering your primal power is that it doesn't fit into our usual ways of talking. It doesn't need explanations or step-by-step breakdowns.
It just...flows. From someplace deeper within us.
So welcome to the most sacred and primal part of my being.
I didn't expect a collage to profoundly change me.
I'm in a course called Truth or Dare, and one of the early assignments was to create a vision board- not for my life, not for my goals, but for my power.
I thought, "Okay, easy. Let's go."
I started collecting images of what I thought power looked like: warrior women, fierce stares, massive beasts walking beside them. I felt strong just looking at them. So I saved image after image.
But the longer I sat with them, the more something started to feel...off.
They were definitely beautiful, bold, and really grabbed your attention. But I couldn't feel myself in any of it. It was like I could see the power, but I couldn't touch it. Like it was still something outside of me- something I'd have to borrow or be protected by.
And it was then that I realized…I've carried that belief for a long time.
I've spent so much of my life feeling like power belonged to other people. I've been the quiet one. The sensitive one. The submissive one. So I surrounded myself with people who felt strong, loud, and certain in who they were and what they wanted. And without even realizing it, I gave little pieces of my own power away. Not because they took it, but because I didn't yet know it was mine to hold.
As I kept working on the vision board, something shifted.
I started removing the warrior women. Not because they weren't beautiful. But because they didn't reflect me fully.
And the images that took their place surprised me.
There were still women in the wild. There was still strength and animals. But now it wasn't about protection. It was about connection. They were no longer all holding weapons. They were holding presence.
There was no fear. No noise. Just this grounded, magnetic knowing. Like, "Of course. Of course this is who I am."
That's when it hit me: the power I've been looking for doesn't live outside of me. It's never been loud. It's never needed to be.
It's deep. Primal. Alive. And I'm starting to remember.
Not in any way I can really explain. But in a scream-into-the-fire, dance-under-the-moon, feel-it-in-my-bones kind of way.
To some people, this might feel like a surprise. To others…it won't. There are people who saw this part of me before I ever did. Before I was ready to see it in myself.
The truth is, we all wear masks. Some are armor. Some are habits. Some are just really old stories. And we wear them so long, we almost forget what's underneath.
Until something cracks. Until something erupts.
I've felt it before.
In a hospital room- my body on all fours. My hair damp against my neck, every muscle remembering what my mind never learned. Each contraction pulled me deeper into myself until I disappeared into pure sensation. My breath became ragged- primal sounds rising from somewhere ancient within me, sounds I'd never heard myself make before.
Labor with my middle son came like a storm- sudden and consuming. There was no time to think about who might be watching or what I might sound like. There was only the overwhelming tide of my body's knowing.
And while I was in immense pain, I've never felt so raw. So human. So alive.
And then…there he was. Soft. Small. Wide-eyed, staring straight into mine as if he’d always known me.
That moment taught me something I could never have learned from reading books or taking courses. It showed me the fullness of my power. In the span of minutes, I was both untamed force and tender love. Fierce and gentle. Primal and nurturing. Not either/or but both/and.
This is what nobody tells you about true power: it doesn't just roar. It doesn't just whisper. It does both. It contains multitudes. It's the wildfire and the soft rain that follows. It's knowing when to stand your ground and when to soften. When to push and when to yield.
For so long, I thought I had to choose. That strength meant leaving softness behind.
Power giving way to presence. Intensity giving way to life.
I used to be scared of my power. And honestly, I still am.
But I'm learning…it's not about becoming someone else. It's about returning to who I've always been.
The flower and the lava. The nurturer and the growl. The white bloom and the cracked earth from which it rose.
That's what my power feels like.
And that's what I want to hold space for.
Not just the parts we've made safe to see. Not just the stories we've rehearsed. But the truth underneath it all.
And maybe yours looks different. Maybe you're still remembering. Maybe you've given your power away so many times, you forgot you ever held it at all.
But it's not gone.
It's just waiting.
Waiting for the crack. Waiting for the howl. Waiting for you to come home to it.
Because when that part wakes up?
The whole world starts to bloom.
