Wake up, Rip Van Winkle I feel like one of those fish who swim alongside a shark, having a purpose, but never the leader. I feel like a maid left to scrub the floors like Cinderella, dare not to complain or you’ll miss the Ball. I feel so small and insignificant most of the time, because success is tied to performance, of your children, of your income, of your job, and I’m just a woman who stays home, reliant on a man who feeds her wallet scraps while he dines on a feast of plenty. I feel unseen, unheard, unwanted, like a burden, an obligation, and a failure most of the time... because I don’t have a degree, because I don’t fit a mold, because I don’t know and I’ll never know how to be ‘normal’. Independent. Abundant. I’m too easily content for periods of time until I remember that I’ve lost myself, and then I panic because I can’t remember who I am. Shadow work. A dark night of the soul. The hard stuff, before the awakening. I feel like Rip Van Winkle, sleeping away my years, waiting, to find me again.