Nicole

Herriman, UT, USA

English

A spoken prayer for women who've armored themselves against needing others—and are ready to soften.

If you're exhausted from doing everything alone, longing to be truly known but terrified of that intimacy, this prayer is for you. It speaks directly to the capable woman who keeps herself at a distance, waiting for others to prove they're trustworthy enough... while her armor makes it impossible for anyone to reach her.

This isn't a traditional meditation with silence—it's a continuous prayer to the Great Mother, asking for help to see clearly, to trust again, and to practice opening just a little. Let the words wash over you. Receive them as permission to soften.

Music by Tunetank from Pixabay

Opening To Be Held: A Prayer For Strong Women

Hello, it's Deb Blum. This is a prayer for opening to be held, for any of you who feel like being strong also feels really lonely. Great Mother, I come to you with hands that have forgotten how to receive, with a heart that learned so long ago that needing was dangerous, that being soft made me weak, that wanting left me disappointed, that the only safety was in handling everything myself. I have been so strong, Great Mother, so capable, so independent, but underneath this armor, I'm tired. Tired of being everything. Tired of carrying everything alone. Tired of the fortress that I built to keep me safe, but now keeps me separate. And Great Mother, there's this loneliness that I carry, a longing to feel close, of wanting so badly to be truly known, to have someone strong enough, trustworthy enough to hold me. But here's what I'm discovering, I keep myself behind walls, hidden in the shadows of my own making, because beneath that armor lives an ancient fear, the terror of being truly seen. The thing I want is the thing that scares me. Great Mother, help me see what my fear has hidden from me. Help me to see that when I look at the people in my life and I think, these people cannot handle all of me, maybe what's more true is I cannot handle needing them. Remind me, Great Mother, that intimacy with others begins with intimacy with myself. That I can't let them see what I refuse to see and feel and hold in myself. That learning to be with my own tenderness, my own needs, my own longings, this is how I'll learn to trust. I've been waiting for them to prove that they can hold me, waiting for it to feel safe enough to open. Help me remember that my armor was wise once. I was a little girl who had to become tough, self-reliant, and guarded. But Great Mother, please remind me that I am not that little girl anymore, that I am a real woman, a woman strong enough to hold myself when others can't hold me perfectly. Give me the eyes to see people around me clearly, Great Mother. Not through the lens of old wounds, but as they actually are, longing for closeness with me, reaching toward me through the walls, waiting, maybe they've been waiting all along for me to let them in. Because if I won't let them find me, or know me, or see me, they can't meet me. Remind me, Great Mother, that surrender is safe now, that it is safe to receive, and that I am finally strong enough to lower my guard, to soften my armor. And that my strength is what makes it possible to reveal my tenderness. Remind me that connection happens when we take risks. Here I've been, waiting for certainty, when what I actually need is courage. So Great Mother, please grant me the courage to trust again. To trust myself enough to be vulnerable first. To risk being seen, really seen, before I know for certain that they can even handle it. Help me to expand my definition of being held, seen, and loved, to include more possibilities than the perfect image that I've been holding. And when I have doubts, remind me that I'm strong enough to trust, that I am safe, that I'm capable of protecting myself, and that I do have the power to choose. And to that little girl inside of me, the one who built this fortress, I see you. I know you're scared, and I know you learned that needing people wasn't safe. I'm here now, and I will not leave you. I'm strong enough to protect us. We can do this together, you and me. We don't have to be so guarded anymore. So please help me practice, Great Mother. Help me to show them who I really am, instead of waiting for them to prove they can handle it. Help me to let the tears flow instead of cutting them off. Help me to allow someone to reach out and touch my hand, even if it feels like it's too much. And help me to tell the truth when someone asks, how are you? Remind me, Great Mother, that I am not too much, that my needs are not a burden, and that my vulnerability is safe to share, and a bridge to closeness. Great Mother, soften me, not into someone weak or dependent, but into someone who can be both strong and soft, both capable and connected, both self-reliant and able to receive from others. Great Mother, please walk by my side as I practice opening even just a little, melting my armor just a bit, taking risks to share my heart, to let other people in, to be seen in my depths. And if it feels too scary, Great Mother, please remind me that I am held, that I've always been held by you, by the universe, by love itself, and that I'm no longer powerless, I can hold myself, I'm strong enough for softness. Great Mother, thank you for seeing me, for holding me even in my resistance, for loving me back into my tenderness. I'm learning to receive, beginning with this moment, with your love, with my own love. And so it is.