Hey google, what’s the woo-woo meaning of getting stung by a bee?
Hey google, what’s the spiritual, cosmic, woo woo meaning of getting stung by a bee?
Bees can represent boundaries and self protection.
Well shit…
I was laying on the grass, exhausted after days of trying to do it all by myself, reiterating the fact that I was done and just wanted an adultier adult to swoop in and take care of me when something landed on my face. I assumed it was a fly, or an ant, so I swatted at it only to realize it wasn’t a fly or an ant.
Within seconds there was pain shooting through the entire right side of my face and my eye swelled up. I attempted amateur surgery to remove the stinger, grabbed a bag of frozen berries to hold against my face and took a Benadryl.
Of course this would happen to me. But also, why wouldn’t it?
I’m the kind of person that believes everything is happening for you, not to you. Everything I encounter, the question is what is here for me? What is this trying to teach me?
So when out of curiosity I looked up the woo woo meaning of bee stings, the realization that this was not random hit me in the face just like the bee had.
See the question I’ve been rolling around in my brain these last few days and weeks is this: Why am I continually trying to fit into spaces that require me to be less?
Multiple scenarios have arrived in these last few weeks of spaces and relationships that once fit but no longer do, where I have been trying to stomach the idea of “You can be here, but not all of you.” Only if you tone down this part of you. Only if you put on this. Only if you pretend to be this.
I truly, genuinely believe that things fall apart so other things can fall together. And that in order for those things to come together, sometimes you gotta be left with empty hands. Which is terrifying.
I’d rather not rock the boat. I want to control and make sure everything is ok and everyone has what they need (hence my mad scramble that resulted in the emotional overload of yelling at everyone who lives in this house that they never help me because I’ve somehow decided everything is mine to manage and I am the concierge of everyone else’s experience)
So admitting that I don’t want to be somewhere, that it doesn’t serve me anymore, or that actually all of me belongs and I’m tired of making myself less than so you’ll like me… yeah, that’s unheard of. But I’m trying anyway.
It’s the meaning of put on your own oxygen mask before you try and help others. Because you matter too. You deserve to be in places that celebrate the muchness of you, not require you to dice yourself up to be palatable. And you’re never going to be too much when you’re in the right spaces. (At least, this is what I keep telling myself).
My face is fine, by the way. My self esteem after realizing I spent so long trying to make myself fit into places that didn’t actually want all of me not so much, but I’ll recover.
