I thought that following the voice to come here to New Mexico would potentially relieve me of the seemingly bottomless anguish I was experiencing, but I never expected that it would instead bring me to meet my shadow. There is no denying that darkness lives within all of us, yet the importance does not lie in its existence but rather in how we choose to engage with it. I hid from my own darkness for so long. I built walls of black-and-white boundaries around me so that I wouldn’t have to take on the underbelly, for fear of truly meeting myself. I stuffed it deep into corners of my body, only to repress my true appetite for self-exploration and connection. I concealed my intensity in order to exist within a culture that champions aloofness. This torment only grew into an abyss of longing that would eventually lead me to unearth the roots of who I truly am. I needed the physical space to explore this—to drive into foreign sunsets and foreign lands—in order to gain the metaphysical space to allow my innermost fears and desires to reveal themselves. Now, instead of building walls, I’m tearing them down. I’m allowing myself to meet my shadow with my gaze. To hold it. To honour it. To allow it to breathe and to permeate every part of my being. I’m permitting my life to fall apart and to get messy. I’m permitting myself to fall apart and to get messy. I am more authentic in my unravelling than in my needing to be “good.” And here I lie - naked, stripped, and raw. The dirt is exposed, but it only rots so that I can renew. -an excerpt from my piece for issue five of @jane.bythegreyattic read more on the journal - link in bio
As I lost physical safety, I searched tirelessly for comfort in spaces. In concrete floors and wood-beamed ceilings. In suede chairs and linen tablecloths. In moody light and the smell of clean sheets. I thought that the loss of security in shelter meant I had to find an external home—a protected space outside of myself. But something greater wanted me to find comfort from within. Despite how messy and grueling and fucking insane everything was on the outside, I was being asked—or rather, forced—to find unperturbed stillness on the inside. I was trying to tidy up my life like a load of laundry: wash, dry, fold, repeat. Yet every time I folded an item of clothing, it would fall open to expose its residual dirt. Wet dirt. I was stuck in mud. Mud that was thick and heavy and insurmountable. I couldn’t breathe in spaces, but I also couldn’t breathe in my own life. I didn’t get to wash, dry, fold, and repeat. It was more like rummaging through dumpsters and ripping everything to shreds, simply to reveal a more visible mess. The rotting meat, the dead flowers, the dirty tampons, all the shit: it was out in the open, exposed.  I couldn’t escape the awful smell and the feeling of dirt all over my body. My flesh was rotting. -an excerpt from my piece for issue five of @jane.bythegreyattic
Soak
For @maidagoods The design for these candleholders is based on found pottery from archeological digs in Eastern New Mexico. Work by Espanola based artist, Camilla Trujillo.
Photo by @winden of me in the Josephine earrings.
Lineup 💦
I recently got to sit down and have a very honest conversation with @lifebyleese for her @glowdeeppodcast. We discuss “spring cleaning” in terms of metaphysical shedding, personal trials and enduring hardships, working through fear, beauty, and truth. Listen on Spotify, iTunes, or with the link in my bio. Photo of the dreamy New Mexican sunset from a few days ago.
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Muse Megan
Megan for Winden x Maida
Internal and external hydration. 💦 @f.miller.skincare
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