Your Weirdness Is Your Superpower
Maybe you’ve been called too loud.
Too deep.
Too intense.
Too you.
I have.
For most of my life, I felt like I didn’t fit. Like I was born with a decoder for a language no one else was speaking.
But maybe that wasn’t a curse.
Maybe that was the call.
Welcome to Something to Say. Today, I’m not bringing on a guest. I’m bringing my whole damn self. My story. My scars. My wings. If you’ve ever wondered who the hell I think I am—turn me up.
Because I’m about to tell you.
And if you’ve ever felt too weird, too wild, too much—you might want to listen.
Who Do I Think I Am?
I don’t speak for women who feel broken, silenced, or too far gone.
I speak as them.
Because I’ve been her.
Every scar I carry, I earned.
Every truth I speak, I clawed my way to.
And this is how I got here—from hiding in plain sight to standing center stage in my own damn life.
The House Where Silence Was Born
I wasn’t raised. I was trained—to scan, to disappear, to survive.
My father was a grenade with no pin. Rage lived in our home like wallpaper. When I was four or five, I watched him beat my mother in our kitchen. Her body—my whole world—absorbing blow after blow while my siblings and I screamed.
I thought I’d watch him kill her.
And I knew I couldn’t survive that.
So I jumped on his back, a tiny girl ready to die for love.
And that was the first spark of me.
The real me.
The one who defends love at all costs.
I used to think that was rebellion.
Now I know—it was truth.
When Love Looks Like Control
I swore I wouldn’t become my parents. I didn’t. I became a great mom. But they say if you don’t become your parents, you marry them.
And I did.
It didn’t look like abuse. It looked like concern.
“You shouldn’t take college classes—I wouldn’t want you to fail.”
“You’re being dramatic—our problems aren’t that bad.”
Sometimes silencing doesn’t shout. Sometimes it whispers in the language of love.
But here’s what I’ve learned:
Self-sacrifice is not noble. It’s a slow death.
There’s no reward for disappearing.
No medal for performing peace.
Who Would I Be If I Stopped Performing?
Healing isn’t becoming someone new.
It’s unbecoming everything you never were.
I didn’t realize I was smart until I was nearly 40.
I didn’t feel safe being seen until I was 50.
My wings were stolen before I even knew I had them.
And up until this year, I never experienced a love that didn’t ask me to shrink.
But here’s the truth: love that doesn’t ask you to perform is graduate-level soul work. I’m still learning how to receive it.
Because I’ve been taught—like you—that our bigness is dangerous. That our power needs a warning label.
But I know better now.
The Day I Got My Wings Back
After my father died, I saw him in meditation. He came to me as a little girl and said, “I’m sorry I stole your wings.”
Then he opened his hand. Inside it was a white butterfly. It flew to my shoulder, and I grew enormous—radiant, uncontainable.
Later, I found a photo of us together—just as I saw it in the vision. And a white butterfly followed me almost every day after.
That wasn’t fantasy. That was restoration.
That was my reckoning.
But even with my wings back, I didn’t know how to use them. Until yesterday.
I felt energy slide off my body like silk. Layers of untruth peeled away.
And I heard the words:
Your wings are ready.
Stop Editing Your Soul
I kept that story to myself for over 20 years. Why?
Because I feared you wouldn’t believe me.
Or worse, you would.
But I’m done editing my story for your comfort.
I’ve got something to say. And it’s this:
You were never broken. Just buried.
Your weirdness is your wisdom. Your bigness is your gift.
Your power is not too much—it’s exactly what this world needs.
Proof in Pop Culture
Watch Mare of Easttown.
Watch The Queen’s Gambit.
These women didn’t shrink.
They unfolded.
Messy. Human. Brilliant. Unapologetic.
When a woman stops contorting herself to be palatable, she becomes unstoppable.
And Then There Was Jesus
Not church Jesus. Not judge-you-for-your-outfit Jesus.
But the Jesus who sat beside me at eight years old while I cried myself to sleep.
The one who held my head at a baptism and confirmed my being, not my religion.
He didn’t save my marriage.
But he did save me.
So Who Am I?
I’m a woman who used to tiptoe.
Now I kick down doors.
I am sacred rage and soft power.
I am 4'10 and 10 feet tall.
I am fire.
I am love.
I am data and divinity, logic and intuition.
A storm in heels with a sacred mission.
And I speak for every woman who forgot she had wings.
Who Are You?
Who would you be if you stopped shrinking?
If you stopped performing?
If you stopped apologizing for your fire?
This is where the performance ends.
This is where your power begins.
This is where you rise.And remember:
Stop waiting to become who you already are.
You do have something to say.
But you’ve got to be the one to say it.
Spread your wings, little buttercup.
Your time is now.
Subscribe to Something to Say and join the revolution at GuidedByJamie.com. Because silence was never your destiny—and now, you’ve got something to say.