Nearly ten years ago, a book was put into my hands, as it was for thousands of other women before me; a beautiful work of fiction that would become a beacon of inspiration for many women walking a different spiritual path. It was a massive text that told the story of King Arthur, his queen, his knights, and his sister. This story was different though. Arthur wasn't the focus. Instead, his sister Morgaine was the focus and her path of spirituality. Arthur was merely a pawn. Morgaine had the focus and discipline we all craved to be dedicated to our faith. She was brutally honest about her struggles and strife. She was a heroine that we felt connected to because she had so many traits and personality quirks we could all relate to. The way the author, a stand out woman at a time when men dominated all industries, created a new world based on both history and fantasy captured all our minds, and had the power to rekindle our faith in a new way. Then, in 2014, Bradley's daughter had some things to say about her mother that rocked us all.
I'd like to start this off by giving my qualifications on the topic. I was diagnosed with depression the day after my 13th birthday. I've been suicidal and am so awesome at not controlling my unhealthy coping skills. Retail therapy is my go-to, sometimes to the detriment of my household's survival. So, I write this piece from the viewpoint of someone that has buried themselves in their own filth and was dug out by my husband. I am in no way writing this from a place of judgement, because I've fucking been there.
I'm sure you've seen this meme floating around in various forms all over social media. Many people are quick to agree, but chances are they are dead wrong.