✷ Soft → Aware → Embodied | Monthly Poem Drop
February’s poems for the moment you realize… oh. wait. a damn minute. Plus a digital download so you can hang one near your mirror.
✷ The deep thoughts behind this month’s poems
I was talking about this with a close friend recently on Marco Polo after school drop-off. Because, obviously, nothing sparks existential conversations quite like the elementary pickup lane. We’ve both read The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz, and what stayed with us is how much of life is shaped by the agreements we accept as true.
The stories.
The identities.
The lenses we keep choosing, often without realizing.
If I’m sitting in
“I’m behind,”
“I’m not enough,”
“I’m just a boring mom,”
I’m not just thinking something.
I’m agreeing.
Agreeing this is the perspective I see my life through.
Agreeing this is the role I occupy.
Agreeing this is the truth about me.
And once we agree with a story, we start living inside it.
But what if the agreement changed?
What if the lens wasn’t smallness or exhaustion,
but that girl.
Because when we say
“I’m just a mom,”
“I’m nothing special,”
“I used to be creative,”
we’re not describing reality.
We’re describing the agreement we’ve accepted about ourselves.
Sometimes I strip the labels for a second, even the beautiful ones.
Not mom. Not friend. Not wife.
Not roles.
Not responsibilities.
Just: me.
Alive.
Creative.
Funny.
Desiring.
Becoming.
That girl was never missing.
She was underneath the agreement.
✷ The new agreement I’m practicing
This is where the poems come in.
Because if agreements shape how we experience our lives, awareness gives us a choice.
We can keep agreeing with the old story.
Or we can make a new one.
And yes, people call this manifestation or alignment.
But at its most practical level, it often looks like this:
A thought appears:
“I’m not interesting.”
“I’m just a mom.”
“I’m not really creative anymore.”
And instead of agreeing, like we’ve practiced for years,
you pause.
And you go:
no.
I don’t agree with that.
I am creative.
I am alive.
I am fun.
I am sexy.
I am a good mom.
I am that girl.
The more you interrupt the old agreement
and speak the new one,
the more your brain wires around it.
You notice evidence.
You show up differently.
It becomes familiar.
Then normal.
Then true.
Not because you forced it,
but because you stopped arguing with yourself about who you are.
That’s the movement these poems follow:
soft → aware → embodied
Soft: you stop attacking yourself.
Aware: you see the old story clearly.
Embodied: you start walking as the new one.
So you can read them as poems.
Or you can read them as agreements.
By the end, my quiet hope is that something in you shifts toward:
I am soft.
I am aware.
I am embodied.
I am THAT girl.
✷ Download + keep + share
I turned these into free printable downloads, because they felt meant to live in the world, not just on a screen.
Hang one near your mirror.
Slide one into your journal.
Mail one to your best friend.
Or send it to that woman you admire, the one who doesn’t even realize how much she already is.
Sometimes we recognize ourselves faster when someone else says it first.
✷ The poems (in order)
soft → aware → embodied
Take them slowly if you want.
Or read straight through and notice where your chest goes warm.
Either way, I’m really glad you’re here for this part.
Now, lets get to it!
✷ Poem #1: she’s been here the whole time (soft)
✷ Poem #2:oh… it’s me (aware)
✷ Poem # 3: walking around like it’s mine (embodied)
✷ The agreement you leave with
And maybe that’s all this February was ever asking of us.
Not to become someone new.
Not to prove anything.
Not to finally get it right.
Just to notice.
The softness that was already there.
The awareness that was already opening.
The embodiment that was already beginning.
A quiet shift in agreement:
I am soft.
I am aware.
I am embodied.
I am THAT girl.