Dear Warrior Within Me

I’m going through another major identity transformation in my life. And when I sit with what that feels like, I see the warrior within me.

I want to tell you about this warrior and my relationship with them, because there is a warrior in many of us.

One who has fought. One who still fights. One who was created from a need to survive and protect ourselves from an early age.

This warrior is strong. They are mighty as fuck.

They helped us slay in our careers, hustling and wielding our sword to achieve, overcome, and hunt down the external validation we craved. It is a masculine energy on steroids, almost indestructible in its sheer power.

But power has dark sides too, when we become unconscious of how it impacts our lives. If we don’t get in touch with this warrior part of ourselves in a healthy way, it can lead to self-destruction. If you’ve ever burned out before, then I think you know what I mean.

But who are we without this warrior? Does it define us?

Is there someone else underneath? And if so, who?

These are questions I’ve been grappling with as I’ve been forced to go through a series of wild events including an ambulance ride and several hospital visits. I won’t get into that now, but I will say that I’ve been asked (not so gently) by the Universe to surrender. To soften. To explore a more divine feminine part of me.

This topic came up recently in a session with an incredible friend and guide Authentic Alex . With deep empathy and care, she asked me to write a letter to my warrior.

So I wrote it. I cried and cried.

And I want to share that letter with you. Because I know I’m not the only one who has this warrior part within them, who has held this mask of defense for so long.

So without further ado, here it is. I hope you find resonance and comfort in my words:

Dear Warrior Within Me,

Where do you end and I begin? Are we one and the same?

I think of symbiosis in nature…of moss, lichen, trees, and mycelium. How living beings need one another.

And I’ve been thinking about my relationship with you. I have seen you and I have been you in multiple visions that feel as clear as day.

Were they past life memories? Or me tapping into the collective unconscious?

I do not know. But the visions have been powerful.

In one vision, I was a king in an ancient land. In front of a vast, barren land, perhaps a desert. I had a long cape. I carried weapons. I had men to the left of me and to the right.

I screamed to our enemy, “You will not take our land! I will protect my people!”

Flames burned nearby. There was chaos, destruction, and carnage.

But there was also a sense of pride. Of purpose. Of doing something that mattered.

My sword was mighty. My sword was holy. My sword protected innocent lives.

In another vision years later, I was a more modern warrior, clad with heavy armor standing in a huge, lush, green park. The fields were full of flowers. Suddenly, I started laughing. It felt so silly to be in such ridiculous armor on such a perfect spring day. I set down my armor.

When I set down my shield, sword, and thick metal breastplate, I became a different person. A different part of me.

Draped with gorgeous, ethereal, soft cloth that seemed to float on me, I was a queen. A mother. A village member.

All at once I sensed I was the embodiment of the divine feminine.

I felt the grass underneath my bare feet, the flowers interwoven with my toes. I closed my eyes and breathed a gentle sigh.

Then I remembered you, the warrior who I’ve been for so long.

I turned and faced the pile of heavy armor. I bent down in holy reverence. In awe. In deep respect. For the warrior in me.

I honored you. I lay flowers over the shell of you, kneeling at the altar of my past self. I felt so much peace and so much grief.

I had been a warrior for so long. For so many lifetimes in war, fighting for a better future.

I am in the present now. People call me Jenn.

I am no king in an ancient desert land. No warrior in heavy armor.

I am here now.

But I grieve. I grieve for my child self, who had to protect myself from my own mother. My mother who beat me and yelled at me and made me feel so small. I grieve for the little girl my father couldn’t protect, who couldn’t defend me against the pain. Who nurtured me, sheltered me, and cooked for me—as did my mother.

There is so much pain acknowledging how there was so much love in my family, but also so much hurt.

As a child, I shielded myself, curling into a ball, extending my arms out to block the blows. My posture suffered. I carried too much. Then when my mother scolded me for bad posture it didn’t make it better. It made me feel worse, even smaller, shrinking into myself. Collapsing into the black hole of my pain.

Did I really ask to carry all this?

Not only from past lifetimes but my childhood and generations in my ancestral lineage too.

I can feel it in my bones. They have held so much that the cracks are starting to show. My spine is starting to bend and degenerate. The doctors told me so.

Don’t get me wrong. I am proud to be one amongst my ancestors chosen to help break the cycle. Chosen to carry and feel what wasn’t safe for many generations before me.

But I am safe now. I am safe now yet I still protect. I still feel the urge to fight. To defend myself at any cost.

I cannot anymore though.

My psyche broke down while healing my trauma and writing my book Enough to Rise. And now it feels like my body is breaking down. 42 is far too young to decompose.

I want to live. To thrive. To serve humanity. But I cannot do that if I’m dead.

Being a warrior has been a righteous, noble, and esteemed role.

But it has cost me a lot.

My heart has been so closed and guarded at times. But love, through marriage and motherhood, has stormed through the fortress to transform me into the divine woman I am destined to become.

I want to protect and serve others, but not at the cost of love, my family, my sanity, nor my health.

And so I decide today I must lay you to rest, dear warrior. Not because you are dead. But because you deserve to rest.

You deserve to rest, dear warrior. Being in a healthy relationship with you means I am not ashamed to sometimes be you. And I will not abandon you.

It means loving you and appreciating that you’ll always be a part of me. A fierce protector when I and others need you. But you do not need to burn yourself out or burn yourself down anymore.

So put down your sword.

I lay flowers in your presence. I grow them too, tending to nature’s cycles.

And in this cycle, you rest for a bit.

I lay down flowers as I bring bouquets to my parents’ graves. They too, carried too much for too long. Breaking the cycle means this level of surrender to rest.

Rest is regeneration. So this wisdom and legacy can be passed down many generations.

Thank you, my dear beloved warrior. I am you and you are me.

But it’s time to set both of us free.

It’s time to rise from within.

With infinite gratitude and love,

Jenn