Clarity is power. You are a powerful being when you are crystal fucking clear on what you want and what you don’t want to waste your time and energy on.

I started drinking when I was 17. This month I’m turning 43. 4 years ago last month, I got sober. So that adds up to approximately half my life. I have lived in a state of clear thinking, and for half my life, I lived seeking numbness. Which, of course, mainly led to shame, guilt, depression, and fogging decision making, albeit there were a few moments of clarity amongst the 22-year alcoholism fog.

So in honor of my 43rd lap around the sun, I wanted to share with you my growing list of things that, since living in a state of clarity, I give zero fucks.

I very much used to give a fuck about some of the things on the list, although to what degree that was just unconscious conditioning vs. a natural choice varies. Others are things the PWC taught me from a very young age and throughout womanhood that I should care about…and well, yeah, in general, I never was in alignment with them. (Regena Thomashauer introduced me to this catchy term in her awesome book Pussy, it refers to Patriarchal World Culture) Now, four years sober, I fully embrace my ‘rebel’ aka genuine dialed-in feminine light and dark self. So here it goes…

IDGAF For Realz

Perfection: achieving it, seeking it, aiming for it, etc. Messy action is where it is at. Excellence is the enemy of good. Done is better than perfect.
Imperfections: zero time spent wishing I was something I am not interested in ‘altering’ myself to be something I am not.
Fitting in: I actively try to fit out.
My mistakes: are more like all the lessons and ways I have developed into the beautiful soul I am today inside and out.
Gray hairs: see #2.
Wrinkles: evidence of fun in the sun and laughter.
Body hair: sometimes I wax, sometimes (like for a year or two) I don’t. Zero obligation, I feel sexy with it, and without it, what’s sexy is owning who you are.
VP (visible panty line): somehow, alcoholism went right along with 22 years of thongs. Still, sometimes I wear them, mostly I don’t.
Feeling “dirty,” “weak,” or like “hiding” when I am bleeding.
Hiding my witchy-ness.
Hiding my general “woo.”
Those 5 lbs. that come and go.
Using “lady-like” vocabulary or cadence *probably already picked up on that, lol.
The fact that my belly looks like a belly and not a washboard.
Holding my belly in.
Sitting up straight all the time because I look thinner – I do it to avoid back pain and feel strong and in alignment most of the time.
Wearing all black all the time because it is “thinning.”
Wearing “appropriate color combinations”: thank you, Mexico, for teaching me to embrace color in all its forms, everywhere in life, and however you want to fucking combine it.
Feeling weak when I want to rest or “do nothing.”
Feeling “unproductive” when I don’t feel like “producing” anything.
Someone else’s definition of success.
Someone else’s timeline.
Cellulite.
The fact is that when I move or dance, parts of my body jiggle.
My saggy and lopsided boobs.
Pretending I’m something I’m not so people will like, accept and include me.
Always wearing a bra, push-up bras, cleavage, etc.
My bra or nipples showing through my blouse.
Pantyhose.
High heels.
Make-up: sometimes I wear it, sometimes I don’t.
“Doing” my hair.
Hiding my emotions, anger, disappointment, rage, and bliss.
Dining my light to conform to someone else’s standards or rules.
Rules.
Someone else’s definition of happiness.
Someone else’s definition of a successful relationship or fairytale.
Being someone else’s version of “appropriate.”
Staying late at the party.
FOMO. Trust in the divine timing, baby.
Owning property.
Hiding my sexual energy and creative feminine power.
My age.

Learn more about Megan Swan HERE

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Resources Are Available

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