“Are you angry, Stacey?” my friend Gayle asked me yesterday.

I though about it a minute, and then I answered her. “Yes. I’m angry, but it isn’t just my anger. Mine is the collective anger of women who have been told by a patriarchal society that we are not Enough.” I can look back through the generations and see it—amazing, hard-working women who struggled to feel that they were worthy of “their husbands’ money;” women with grace and natural beauty who were unable to see themselves as pretty; strong women who secretly feared that they weren’t good-enough parents, partners, lovers, whatever.

And my anger is very personal. Some of it is still directed at myself for believing in my own Not-Enoughness, for buying into the cultural hype, for believing for a long time that I was the only one. But I’m not.

There’s tremendous power in speaking our insecurities, because they dwell in the dark, secret places within us. When we bring them into the light, we discover that others feel the same way. The specifics of each woman’s experiences will be different, but feelings of Never-Enough connect us to one another.

Today I’m sharing a poem I wrote a couple of years ago. The images in it are deeply personal; they come directly from what I experienced through my practices. I pasted a copy of it into my bullet journal and decorated the page with a spiral that begins in a whisper and ends in a shout, “I Am Enough!” Until today, I’d only shared it with a handful of people, but I’m choosing to risk being completely vulnerable because I see around me countless women who are also healing from the notion of Not Enough. It’s time for me to bring my poem back into the light.

Enough Not-Enoughness

The critical dose was meted out carefully,
Almost imperceptibly,
Over half a century.
Tiny pills were slipped into magazines that shouted
Make this beautiful dessert for your family!
But lose ten pounds this week.
In classrooms the air was infused with
Girls can’t do that.
Would you rather be smart or pretty?
Magnetized, electrified particles flickered on screens
Without our product, you are Nothing.
Not Enough.

I swallowed and I inhaled and I listened,
Every dose laced with anesthesia
Like a mosquito bite,
Numbing me to the administration of the poison.
Fifty years, sleepwalking, I parroted back the mantra
I am Not Enough.
Not pretty enough.
Not graceful enough.
Not sensual enough.
Not feminine enough.

When I outgrow my pimples,
Then I will be Enough.
When my teeth are straightened,
Then I will be Enough.
When I lose weight,
Then I will be Enough.
When I wear the right clothes,
Then I will be Enough.
When I attract a boyfriend,
Then I will be Enough.
When I am married,
Then I will be Enough.
When I have children,
Then I will be Enough.
When I balance career and family,
Then I will be Enough.

Coursing through every vein, the potion,
The Not-Enoughness,
Found its mark
And settled in my gut
Like a gluttonous tapeworm,
Devouring my Essential Self.
Five decades it festered there,
Unseen, beneath my Knowing
But oozing into every decision,
Every conversation,
Every relationship.
The Not-Enoughness curdled
And pressed like a cancer in my belly.

My affliction was not unique.
Others who longed for healing
From the pervasive toxin
Discovered one another,
Recognized me
In my aching for wholeness at last,
And invited me into their hallowed circle.

Now my woman-tribe surrounds me,
Sharing stories,
Laughing,
Crying,
Creating,
Holding sacred space
In blessed feminine energy.
Their medicine is strong
And the sleeping elixir begins to wear off.

Awakening, becoming Aware,
I gather my Strength and
Finally heave up the putrid ball.
Its acrid taste fills my mouth
As it catches in my throat,
Gurgling as someone drowning.
For a moment I cannot breathe—
I am sure I will die.
Something has to die
To make room for the Something New.
My woman-guides are there,
Patient midwives
Who will not let me drown,
Will help me to breathe,
Reminding me that
I can do this.
My body knows what to do.
Trust.

I turn toward the lump in my throat
To observe it, describe it, name it.
Sadness
Surrounding Fear
Encompassing Rage.
A paper-thin shell of
Sadness for the many years
Of believing the lies.
Fragile as an illusion,
It cracks, exposing
A thick layer of Fear,
Spongy, gooey globs that
Swell and fill every void.
Fear of—what?—
Fear of—can this be?—
Fear of . . . my own Power.
Now I see the heart of it,
A red molten core of Rage that wants
To melt and dissolve the
Notion of Never-Enough.

I cry out and reach toward that sphere,
Grasp it, and bring it into the light of Truth.
It shimmers and morphs into
A glowing, golden orb proclaiming
I am Enough!
I am Enough—right Now!

I remember that
Every moment is Now—
My Enoughness
Within me all along,
Quietly waiting for me to awaken to it.
The poison I was given
Had made me forget.
Understanding this,
I weep,
Gulping the first breath of my new Freedom.
I look to the midwives
And smile.
Together, we birth a new Self.

Dear Reader, I invite you into that Hallowed Circle. Will you be vulnerable and share what’s in your heart? What is your relationship with Enoughness?

Until next time,