The Sacred Pilgrimage of Woman Becoming


“Woman becoming,” I called the whimsical reflection I saw in the mirror.

My eyes were red and remnants of last night’s eyeliner had made its way under my eyes. I’m not sure how it happened, but it made me chuckle.

My hair was knotted, in need of a good brush. Maybe a bit of washing. Messy, unruly hair had become my brand, much to my mother’s dismay and my delight.

My feet were a bit swollen. I had gone dancing with my friends the night before, and my feet, while a little tender, had an embodiment hangover. Battle scars at their finest. Beautiful, in all its size 8 glory.

I saw in the mirror a woman in her 20s trying to figure out what it means to be a woman in her 20s.

I look very young and people are often incredulous when I tell them I’m nearing my mid 20s.

“I’m right on time for my quarter life crisis!” I say, neglecting to mention I’m quite in the middle of that crisis already.

I’m anxious about where my career is heading, what my purpose in life is and what my place in the world is going to be. I’m constantly wondering what kind of woman I am and want to become.

I wonder what it means to be a woman when I talk to my 80-something-year-old grandma and my teenage cousin, two women who see the world very differently. I wonder what it means to be a woman when I flip through celebrity gossip magazines. I wonder what it means to be a woman when I read story after story here, on SheLoves.

Complicated. The only thing about womanhood I know for certain is that it’s complicated.

When I confide with those who are further along in their womanhood journey, they give me a knowing smile and say, “That’s normal.”

They’ve been there, they’ve felt it all. They’ve fallen, questioned and pondered. They’ve survived. And each day they rise, over and over and over again.

My favorite kind of love stories are the ones where women learn to rise.

I wonder if I’m attracted to those stories because I’m trying to unearth mine. Or what if it’s because there’s nothing more phenomenal than woman rising? Or what if it’s both?

Most things in life are both/and, right? That’s central to womanhood, right?

Here’s another thing I do know: Sometimes I need to stop asking all these questions and I need to dance.

Worrying is exhausting—physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually.

“Lay it at the feet of Jesus,” they tell me.

Well, the feet of Jesus are at the dance floor. The dance floor is where I rest and it is where I rise. There I can let my messy hair down, move my limbs ungracefully and wiggle my 5 foot 1 inch frame around in whatever way I please.

There I learn to make a little bit of room for joy and laughter, along with worry, anxiety and my quarter life crisis. It can all coexist.

Like I said, the only thing about womanhood I know for certain is that it’s complicated. But it is also beautiful. Oh, so beautiful.

One day I rise, the next I fall, the next I learn to walk once more, and rise again. Over and over and over again.

This is the sacred pilgrimage of woman becoming.


SheLovelys, I’m hungry for love stories. I’d love to know:

-Did you have a quarter life crisis? What was it like?
-If you could impart a blessing to your 20-something-year-old self, what would it be?