You Don't Need a Fairytale Ending, Be the Chick who Saves Herself

I was born into a body that never felt fully my own.

Raised, like all good little girls, on the fairytale fantasy of who I'm supposed to be in the world.

Brought up to smile and look pretty. To be seen, never heard. Others belong on a pedestal, much higher than my own.

Be sweet, nice, agreeable, pretty, easy-going, peacekeeper, and caretaker at all costs of yourself.

Above all, be good.

These were the ingrained ideals passed down before I exited the womb. Beliefs I reinforced from the stories I grew up on. Where beautiful princesses were locked in their castles, safe from their demons. A damsel in distress, patiently waiting for a handsome prince to arrive and save her from herself.

I desperately wanted to be good.

To be like the pretty princesses who get rescued by their charming, young prince. I became the small, quiet, and peaceful little girl, doing what's she told and playing nice with the world.

From a distance, I watched as my brother played outside in the dirt. He was wild and free. Unapologetic, as he went about terrorizing the neighbors, causing all sorts of chaos and disruption. I was jealous.

It was my duty to be good, or so I thought. Even when I knew it didn't fit who I was.

While I played pretend, putting on the pink, frilly dresses that itched at my back and constricted my soul. Scratching an urge to crawl out of this falsely given skin. I wanted to rip it all to shreds, rebel, and be wild and free as well.

Instead, I sat back in my place, gently so as not to wrinkle my pretty little dress. That was the moment I decided it was time to start reading a different type of bedtime story.

Find the seed that plants the truth.

The story of the Little Red Hen is not a fairytale.

It's the story of being a woman, living in a very demanding world.

A tale of a humble little hen living on a farm, raising her chicks.

A busy body, doing what any good mother Hen should do. Always tending to her daily tasks just as she was raised. Constantly caught up in a fury, making sure her chicks are well-cared for while remaining poised in her place.

But her busyness hides restlessness to break free. The demands of the non-stop expectations make her desperately scratch and search for something more out of life.

Until one day, going about her normal tethered routine, she stumbles on a seed, sparking hope of a brighter future.

This story doesn't have a fairytale ending. No handsome fowl is swooping in to save the day.

It's a story about a chick who chooses to save herself.

There's more to our story than the identity we're handed.

The little red Hen knows her place in the world. Her role is to take care of her chicks and ensure the best life for them. Her identity is consumed with days of digging up dirt, searching her soul while providing for her young.

We form our identity from the values, roles, and environments of our past. It teaches us early on how we fit into the world, telling us who we need to become, to be valued and worthy in society.

It gives us a place to belong when we're lost, and no place feels safe.

We attach to this pre-determined version of our story, crystalizing the foundation that makes up who we are. Assuming it's set in stone while we ignore the friction lying beneath.

We forget that our story isn't over until we officially reached the end.

Good girls can want more than they already have.

We all want to be good, do good, and be seen by others as good. When we can't live up to the hype, we smother our true selves with feelings of being bad.

We don't want to be bad. Good girls aren't rebellious, taking our rage out on the world. Instead, we take it out on ourselves. Blame our wanting, longing, and desires for being too much. Falsely believing life has given us so much, it's ungrateful to be dissatisfied with what we have.

We should be happy with our story the way it was written, but we're not.

Still, we're afraid to sacrifice the gifts blessed upon us. Blessings that cursed us with a loss of faith in ourselves. We don't trust that we are the ones who write the next chapter of our story.

Failing to live up to the limits of someone else's standard, makes us feel flawed, troubled, or broken into a thousand tiny pieces. The fear of rejection makes us stuff down our desires, covering up the truth about who we really are. Shaming ourselves back into the submissive little place the world wants us to remain.

The good little red mother hen embraces her truth. She knows her identity is not only what appears on the surface, but the many layers that make up all the roles she embodies.

She accepts the inherent role of caretaker, while relentlessly pursuing a vision of a better life for her chicks.

It's proof that being called caretaker is more than catering to those around us. To provide the best for her chicks, she must break free from the cultural limits keeping her tied to life as it is.

Society's defined roles don't tell the whole truth. They become boxes to check, titles that tame our wildest dreams. But it's only one part of the story, and we have the power to write our version of the rest.

You don't need a tribe when you belong to yourself.

When we belong to a tribe, a pack, or a community, it gives us warm and fuzzy feelings. They confirm our beliefs and reassure us we're still good when we've really been bad.

Belonging is comfort, reminding us that we're fine.

But we're not. And to be a part of the crowd, we're forced to pay the price. Fitting in requires we never stand out for who we are on our own.

The little red Hen embraces being an outsider. She refuses to go with the crowd. Continues about her tasks, despite the missing camaraderie from the others.

She is a disruptor. Questioning the peaceful existence of a fat, lazy, and complacent life. She challenges the status quo by simply being herself.

She had no reason to question a worm that wasn't really a worm. She could have tossed it aside and carried on as she usually did. Her life wouldn't have changed. She would have been fine.

Fine was good enough for the other farm animals. Content with their place, fine was a comfort to them. Fine was good enough to make them forget the true nature of who they are born to be.

But fine wasn't enough for the Hen, nor her chicks.

Fine was scratching day in and day out, busying herself to death with duties to distract her from a life full of lack. She watched good enough make the fat cat fat and the lazy pig lazy.

She knows that a cat who lacks the inherent, animalistic need to tare into her prey taunting her from a claw's reach, is not fine.

The hen listens and trusts her own instincts to stay true to herself. Going with the crowd would come at the cost of giving up her inner wild calling. It would declaw her curiosity, giving up the possibility for something more.

She belongs only to herself. She doesn't need confirmation from others to trust in her own gut. She's hungry for something different than a daily dinner of dirty worms.

Determination becomes her companion, dedication is her helping hand guiding her through.

The squeaky wheel is the noise that creates change for the future.

As women, we love to say we're fine, even when we're not. It's an automated response. We're not supposed to express how we really feel. We don't want to burden someone else with our worries. We don't want the world to think we're ungrateful for everything we appear to have. So we say, I'm fine.

But I'm fine is the biggest lie you tell yourself.

Fine is the passive acceptance of a life that you know isn't worth living.

Fine is surviving, not thriving. It's taming the wild voice inside you, begging you for more. Fine is the tower you lock yourself in, believing this is all of what life has to offer.

Fine makes you a bystander. Sitting, waiting for something to happen. As your dreams are leisurely dying a slow, painful death.

Beliefs become an entangled nest hiding our truth.

The values passed down from previous generations get reinforced by the faces of society and cultures that raise us. Becoming the passive reminders of our place in the world.

These messages weave through our lives so seamlessly, it's difficult to separate what's true from the aggressive, external expectations. With no instruction manual for life, these ideals give us pre-defined parameters, benchmarks, and systems to create a good enough life.

If we stay in our lane, be who we're supposed to be, we will find the road that leads to happiness.

But it doesn't. We arrive at this destination and feel an overwhelming sense of lack. We don't feel happy and whole, we feel broken and ungrateful. We think we've lost our way, our values, our passion for the cause.

But the only thing we've really lost is ourselves.

Instead of getting in the driver's seat, we've handed the keys over to someone or something that only knows one direction, theirs.

Our desire to follow a different path challenges their power, authority, or questions if they are the ones going the wrong way.

They are fine with the way the world works and want it to remain that way. They've accepted their place in the world and need you to accept yours too.

Don't be a little princess. Be a badass chick.

The princess of my childhood fairytales would lay in waiting, wondering when her prince would come to change her circumstances.

Dreaming of the day, some white knight would deem her worthy of being rescued. She would make herself into the perfect image of what she needed to be, in hopes that one day her prince would finally come.

Be a chick who saves herself, not the princess in need of rescue.

The fierce red hen is my reminder that I'm not a princess and I don't need to be rescued.

She's my inspiration, my reminder.

I already have everything I need inside to save myself.

Ignore the outside squawks telling me who I'm supposed to become. Attempting to make me doubt who I already know I am.

I'm not hopeless or broken. And don't need to squeeze into the good little woman I was supposed to be. I don't need to search outside myself to confirm my value and worth in the world. I already have it within.

This wild inner knowing can never be caged. She knows too much and trusts that more than anything else. She fights with all her might to scratch her way to the surface. Refusing to give up, no matter how much the naysayers tell her to get back in her place.

There is a little red hen inside us all.

It is our truth.

Our guide. Wisdom. And unwavering strength.

She sees past the comfort of accepting less than what she desires. She uses her curiosity to discover something bigger, better, more meaningful for her life.

And fears when the world around her becomes just a fine place to be.

Fine is not fine.

Fine is a slow death. The destruction of the wild inside that is everything that makes you uniquely, unapologetically you.