Surrealistic Menina on Nostr: Journals of the Soul by Sophia "Good’ meant: quiet, pretty, profitable, ...

Journals of the Soul by Sophia



"Good’ meant: quiet, pretty, profitable, palatable…Forgettable. This one was hard to make. It touched something within me that is much older and broader than me. Something collective. The kind of generational resistance that lives in the body long after the mind knows better and brings heaviness to the hands of those trying to pierce through it. This is for the one who found herself again. Not necessarily all at once, but through every silent war that she survived. We were taught to betray ourselves before we even knew how to pronounce our own names. We learnt to swallow our instincts and call it resilience. We were trained to trade our original knowing for permission and to mould our bodies, voices & longing into something more palatable to a world that never wanted us whole, only compliant. This is an ode to unbecoming the performative self and remembering the one who always existed beneath the roles. The one we silenced to keep others comfortable and whose truth we twisted into socially acceptable shapes (and called it survival). It was always there... whispering beneath the inherited conditioning. Waiting for us to tune out the voices of impostor narratives, just enough to hear it. ‘And in that stillness, she began to listen to the echo behind the question and the voice beneath the word. To the part of her that moved before being named. She stopped trying to be good and became something far more dangerous: herself.’ This piece belongs to a section in my upcoming book, Journal of the Soul, which traces the archetypal deconstruction of the ‘good woman’ and the reclamation of the Muse in her original form. Not as ornament or as inspiration for someone else’s brilliance, but as the wild and mysterious force of creation itself. For the ones who had to forget themselves to survive and are now remembering who they were before the world told them who to be. The true Muse was never gone. She was only waiting to be remembered."

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