Art of the Lid

Recently, there’s been an energy rising inside me—to write the stories. Whatever stories and thoughts live within me. It’s led me to think a lot about the lid.

Not the kind that seals a pot or keeps leftovers from leaking. I mean the lid we learn to live under—the one that keeps our fire from flaring too high, our voice from rising too loud, our truth from being too… much.

While it isn’t reserved only for women, I suspect it’s something many of us—especially women—have known intimately.

I know my lid well (though I didn’t always recognize it). We go way back.

At first, I thought it was just me. Maybe I was the one who was “too intense,” “too serious,” “too animated,” “too much.” But somewhere along the way, I realized—this lid wasn’t my design. It was installed by systems and conditioning that didn’t know what to do with full-volume women. Women who feel deeply, speak boldly, and don’t shrink when the air gets thick.

I have spent years editing myself in real time. Censoring every word I wrote. Overthinking everything I said. Avoiding confrontation. I turned down the dial on my own energy—somehow convinced I should be soft, agreeable, quiet, zen. And because I was so not zen, I was full of self-criticism. I’d ask myself, “Dammit, was I too much? Did I say too much? Move my hands too much?”

Recently, someone said to me: Maybe you’re not meant to look or be soft. Your nature ignites others. You’re here to wake people up.

OOF. That hit hard. I’m still not sure what to do with that information, but let me tell you—it landed. It cracked something open. And it’s definitely the catalyst for this surge of energy for writing .

The truth is, the lid served me for a time. Maybe it helped me navigate spaces that weren’t ready for the whole of me. But the energy I’m feeling now? It’s leading me to use writing as a way of cracking the lid.

When I write in my full voice—not the filtered, flattened version, but the raw and real one—I remember who I am.

Most of my friends and family have never heard me in my full voice. Honestly? I’m not sure I’ve ever fully heard it either.

This writing will be healing for me. But the idea of sharing it? Uncomfortable.

It’s not that I’m holding dark, secret stories. It’s just truths and perspectives that I haven’t fully acknowledged—and certainly never shared.

But those truths are rising. And they’re demanding that I take off the lid and let them pour out. Without apology.

It won’t always be neat. Sometimes it’ll be messy, loud, and uncomfortable.  Maybe it will be a catalyst for someone else to do their own healing - whether through writing or another outlet.

So, back to the Art of the Lid. Not quite a memoir. Not quite a meltdown. Maybe somewhere in between.

Art of the Lid is about the stories we bury—stuck inside with a tight lid—and the healing that happens when we finally crack open and let them breathe.
Surrendered stories. Spirit-led reflections.