For all the women who’ve been labeled “too much.”

I’ve been told I’m too passionate.

I’ve been told I’m too intense.

I’ve been told I’m too aggressive.

Too much for who? Too much for you? With all due respect….FUCK YOU. Who I am, has no bearing on YOU.

I’d rather be too much of all those things than to live a life devoid of any of them. I don’t care what is polite, or what is proper. I care about living an existence of consequence.

If I was an asshole, that would be different. But I love people. I want the best for them. I truly do. AND, I give them the benefit of the doubt, almost always, unless you’ve proven yourself unworthy of the benefit.

If my language offends you, that’s about you. I’m not swearing at you, I’m not demeaning you. I’m not even directing it at you. My language is used to communicate all that “passion,” “aggression,” and “intensity.”

If a pic of my ass is “too much” for you, then don’t look. I worked hard for that ass. I was disciplined and dedicated to my movement and my nourishment. I’ve turned my body into something I didn’t know I had. And I did it by putting into practice my talents, doing me, and not worrying about what other people thought. I did it by putting in the work, and now I get to celebrate! So you best believe, more pics of that ass are going to be posted. AND when I get abs, it is likely that I will never wear clothes again.

It used to be that when someone accused me of being “too much” of anything, it hurt me, wounded me, and made me feel like I needed to change. But now I understand that it has nothing to do with me. It has everything to do with them.  Instead of inspiring their meager existence with my passion, intensity, aggression (which I would rather label as fucking zeal and purpose) it shines a gigantic spotlight on their lack thereof, and it spawns fear and criticism. Instead of being inspired to go after what is theirs, it causes them to retreat and make excuses for why it can never be theirs.

Which is okay. I hope for their sake, they one day find the courage, support, and love (self love most likely) to go after something with passion. Which I’m willing to support, but until that point, I’m gonna do me.

…and life can be heavy as fuck.

I am regularly inspired by the brevity of life. If I were to leave my earthly body, I’d want the people in my life to know where I stood, to know what I was about. I’d want them to remember how much I loved them. I’d want them to know how much I felt, how my heart was easily overwhelmed by love, how my eyes would tear when triggered by the right topics. And when those tears were triggered, I accepted the moment without embarrassment, because crying often takes courage…and life can be heavy as fuck.

I’d want the people I love to remember that I laugh out loud with my mouth wide open, and that wide mouth laugh can sometimes turn into a snort…if I enjoy the joke enough. I’d want them to remember that I wasn’t embarrassed to embrace my body – all of it, even the loose skin on my tummy and the wrinkles on my forehead and around my eyes.

I’d want them to remember me passionately kissing and arguing, intensely living and creating, and aggressively fighting for those that I love and those that can’t fight for themselves.…yet.  

I’d want them to know that I accept myself for who I am, and I’ll work to be better at all of it for ME. Not for anyone else. Although everyone else is welcome to join me.

I’d want my life to have meant something. And if being “too much” of the qualities I mentioned has something to do with my life having greater meaning and consequence….well then, FUCK YES! I accept all those accusations.

It’s possible you don’t know me. It’s possible you misunderstand my passion. And that’s okay. But let go of your judgements towards others. Love people regardless, and maybe one day they will rock your world, and change your life!