We Have To Start Writing New Fairytales!
Writers such as Shakespeare has tainted the meaning of love for most of us women over the past few hundred years.
Tales of forbidden love, passionate yearning and noble heroes are forever etched in our psyches.
We knowingly and often unwittingly seek out our own Prince Charming in order to fulfill some crazy notion of what true love is supposed to be.
Because of these tales we have intentionally set out to fall in love.
Isn’t that quite the paradox?
We don’t fall in love, we choose to love and to allow ourselves the ecstasy of being loved in return.
As children we were introduced to stories of poor little Cinderella rescued from the wretches by a handsome royal and a valiant man of honour awakening her from slumber with a passionate kiss after combating a fire breathing dragon and an evil witch.
And don’t get me started on the forbidden love of Romeo and Juliet, a travesty in which teenage lovers end up committing suicide rather than facing the possibility of living apart.
On the token of commitment isn’t that the essential component of a loving relationship?
A strong and healthy relationship requires two people committed to one another and meaning it.
That is the truest requirement for a much deeper and meaningful example of a love story.
However intriguing stories like fairy tales may be almost completely unrealistic.
Disney finally realised what an injustice they had done to society and created the animated movie Frozen in which Prince Charming wasn’t so charming.
For once the Princess finally took her heart out to actually see him for what he was an imperfect, infuriating and a self centred man with ulterior motives.
I’m not saying that good men aren’t available.
I’m strongly stating that the misconception that all women need to have the fairy tale life by means of a rescuing man is archaic.
A man can’t save us.
We have to save ourselves.
We have to be willing to sit in our loneliness and do the work to heal our own broken hearts.
We have to find the courage to shake loose all that binds our own divine soul.
Before we can truly understand the value of being loved by another, we must begin to truly love and honour ourselves.
It is a sentimental thought to have a man carry you across the threshold to solace, confidence, romantic bliss and happy endings.
The truth is, however that you have to discover, embrace and own your own wondrous and revered self.
It takes using your own strong legs to walk over glass after the Cinderella slippers have shattered beneath your feet.
Hear me when I say that desire does not necessarily equate to value when a man is passionately expressing his undying love for you.
Tina Turner pinpointed our dilemma in her album Wildest Dreams.
The lyrics in her song What’s Love Got to do With It speak volumes if only we pay a better attention.
What’s love got to do with it?
what’s love but a second hand emotion?
What’s love but a sweet old fashion notion?
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?
To set the record straight love has everything to do with it.
Love for ourselves.
Love that demands to be reciprocated because we know we are willing to give everything and we want everything in return.
Love that is willing to speak up and say I need more attention, I deserve respect and deep affection because I’m not going to settle for anything less.
The sweet old fashioned notion demands to be rewritten as one that doesn’t set itself up as a repeatedly broken heart that stems from an insecure woman with a fancy notion of what love is supposed to look and feel like.
It’s high time that we begin writing new fairy tales.
It’s time for us to be pioneers of a new frontier for women across the globe.
It’s time to be women who do not shrink before our men or lose ourselves in our lovers.
It’s time to be women who know our value, acknowledge what we bring to the relationship, understand that we are passionate, emotional creatures and demand to be recognised and treated as such.
Love stories need not end as unrequited love.
We need to stop selling our souls for the high price of living a lowly fairy tale.