The Uppity Woman’s Guide to Sovereignty

I Stopped Carrying Pain That Was Never Mine

There comes a time in every woman’s life when she realizes she has been carrying sorrows, expectations, judgments, and wounds that never truly belonged to her.

Some were inherited—passed down through a lineage that began long before Jesus, Mary Magdalene, or Buddha. A lineage that taught women to be second-class, silent, compliant.

A lineage that taught us to hush our truth and shrink our brilliance.

Many were absorbed through what we used to call “social norms”:
Get married. Have children. Go to church. Serve the proper deity.
Be agreeable. Be pleasant. Be small.

And some were carried because, somewhere along the line, she was taught to be a good girl—quiet, accommodating, endlessly understanding, endlessly enduring.
Never sassy.
Never sovereign.

She believed that being tolerant was noble, even sacred.
She didn’t know she had another choice.

Slowly, she began to remember who she really was—love. Pure, divine love.
And endurance is not love.
And tolerance is not sovereignty.
Not anymore.

The Wounds I Carried That Weren’t Mine

For decades, I tolerated things that bruised my spirit and dimmed my heart. The “little” things:

• no acknowledgment of my presence
• being told to watch younger kids and then told I was too bossy
• teasing about my eyes, my teeth
• unspoken expectations that bent me out of shape

And the big things:

• sexual abuse as a child
• grades never good enough
• humiliation from a high school teacher who once declared, You’ll never be a writer

The list goes on.

I tolerated what hurt me because I thought that was what love required.

But here’s the truth I wish I had known sooner:

When you tolerate what harms your spirit, you dim your own light. And when you dim your own light, you unconsciously teach others to dim theirs.

Tolerance is a cycle. And when we’re unaware, it can feel like an addiction—something we can’t escape.

But here’s the good news:

Sovereignty breaks the cycle.
Sovereignty leads us to emotional freedom.

Emotional freedom—the ability to find rest inside the intensity of life.
It is the absence of oppressive thoughts.
It’s remembering that pain is inevitable—but suffering is always optional.

Sometimes we stay where we are because the unknown feels scarier than the familiar hurt. We whisper, Who am I if I am not this pain?

Who, indeed.

Letting go of who others want us to be—and letting go of their wounds—frees us to become whole, luminous, and sovereign.

My Mother, My Husband, My Past

My mother smoked herself into an early grave. For years, I tolerated it—braced against it—silently begging her to stop. I hated it.

But as her mortality became undeniable, something softened. I loved her. And slowly I understood:

I could accept her without accepting the cigarettes.

I was seeing her humanity, her story, her wounds—not her addiction.

I was seeing her soul.

My love became clearer, cleaner, unburdened by the fantasy that I could save her.

That was acceptance.
Not tolerance.

And Craig. Oh, my dear sweet Craig—husband, lover, best friend. He could spend the same hundred dollars five different ways before lunch.
I argued. I worried. I blamed. I cried.

Until I finally understood:

The fear was mine.
Not his fault.
My wound.
My scarcity.
My terror of not being safe.

Loving him fully meant owning my fear instead of tolerating his habits.

Then there are the oldest wounds—the ones shaped by abusers and men who carried violence in their blood.

Seeing their humanity—seeing the soul beneath the wound—does not excuse them. It simply frees me from carrying the shame they tried to place on me.

That shame was never mine.
Not then.
Not now.

And then there are the collective wounds—public figures whose cruelty, lies, and hatred trigger every old fear in my nervous system.

To them I say:

I do not accept your behavior.
I do not endorse it.
I will not let it dim my light.

His path is not mine.
His wounds are not mine.
His hate is not mine to carry.

This, too, is sovereignty.

Seeing Humanity Without Losing Myself

Here is the difference that changed everything:

Acceptance is recognizing a soul.
Endorsement is agreeing with behavior.
Tolerance is abandoning myself to keep the peace.

Acceptance does not mean boundarylessness.
Never.
Never.
Never.

Unconditional love does not mean letting harm into your home, heart, or energy.

I used to confuse these things. Most women do—especially those raised to be quiet, polite, grateful, accommodating.

But I’m not interested in being polite anymore.

I am interested in being whole.

Luminous.
Rooted.
Honest.
Sovereign.

This is the tender fierceness of the Uppity Woman. Not rebellious for rebellion’s sake—but unwilling to dim her soul for anyone.

Sovereignty Is the Opposite of Tolerance

Sovereignty says:

• I see your humanity.
• I do not take on your wounds.
• I do not try to fix you.
• I do not collapse because of your behavior.
• I do not shrink to make you comfortable.
• I do not endure what harms me.
• I do not carry pain that was never mine.
• I stay in my light. Always.

This is not hardening.
This is not coldness.
This is not judgment.

This is clarity.
Compassion.
Boundaries.
Truth.

This is what love looks like when it grows up.

A Reflection for You

• Where do you still tolerate what dims you?
• Whose wounds are you carrying that were never yours?
• Where does sacred rage want to protect your boundaries?
• What NO in your life is begging to become a YES to yourself?
• What would shift if you saw the soul beneath the wound—without taking on the wound itself?

Closing

I no longer fold myself into shapes that fit other people’s comfort.
I no longer carry pain that was never mine.I choose sovereignty.
I choose light.
I choose the love that doesn’t endure me—the love that welcomes me home.