[It’s the end of an era and the start of something new. I’ve been primarily working with goddess archetypes as part of my practice since I was fourteen. Now it seems its time for me to move on. But, in honour of the feminine archetypes that have guided me thus far, this is the goddess series.]

Persephone: Do you believe in perfection? (I hadn’t expected someone so young. This young girl sat before me, she looks barely fourteen, a school girl in blue jeans and a T-shirts that says: “Boy Bye” on it. Her hair is short around her ears, a pixie cut the colour of dried leaves mulched by rain.)

Me: I believe in imperfection, that it’s the imperfections of things that can make something beautiful, make something perfect. Perfection lies in flaws.

Persephone: That’s a nice sentiment, but I don’t believe you. Don’t look shocked. We judge each other too much, we judge each other’s flaws, our imperfections. What do people judge about you?

Me: That I don’t have a job. That I’ve given up real opportunities to focus on a writing career that has yet to bare any real, cashy fruit. That I live at home with my mother, that I don’t have a social life, that I watch documentaries, that I’ve taken up knitting like an old person. That, depending on who you talk to, I’m either too fat or too skinny. Oh, what else, my fashion sense, my spending habits, my skin colour, my gender, my relationship status…

Persephone: And what do you judge about people?

Me: I try not to judge. Okay, don’t look at me like that. I judge women who subconsciously manipulate men to get what they want, rather than just asking for what they want. I judge women who knowingly have affairs with married men, then act like they’re the victim, not the wife. 

Persephone: And why do you judge these women?

Me: Because I’m a master manipulator too, and I hate that about myself. Because I think women should have more pride in themselves, stop hating each other and fighting over men. They’re not rare, they’re literally everywhere, you can even find the odd priest in a nunnery. 

Persephone: That brings me to my next question. What do you judge about yourself?

Me: Everything that people judge about me, and more. I can’t help but see everyone’s judgements as a reflection. Sometimes it feels like people can see inside me, pick out what I’m insecure about and shove it right in my face.

Persephone: People are good at that.

Me: Yeah.

Persephone: I was always judged for being too quiet, but I never judged myself for it, not until… The women who raised me, the women who surrounded me for most of my early life, they were continuously judging each other. They were like clandestine little battles, subtle, but obvious if you really looked. They would battle over their looks, their husbands and lovers, the lavishness of their homes, even the talents of their children. Supporting each other wasn’t second nature, not unless something could be gained in return or held over the other. 

I observed all this, I absorbed it, soaked it all in, the way quiet children do. Because of this, I resided myself to the fact that, if I wanted to be more than that, then I had to remove myself from that world, I would do the opposite of everything they did. 

As soon as I was old enough, and knew that I would not be questioned for not knowing my own mind, I pledged I would remain a maiden for the rest of my life. It wasn’t that I blamed men for the faults of women, but I saw the constant pursuit and fighting over men as something that I personally wanted to avoid. I wanted my life to be a contemplation of nature, a life of learning and wondering. I wanted to be surrounded by likeminded souls and show others that there was another path. 

I was naïve, and I misjudged the brutality of the women I was leaving behind. I misjudged the level of denial a person can cultivate when confronted with a way of life that makes them ashamed of the way they’ve lived theirs. 

Aphrodite had her son lead me away from my sister maidens one day when we were all out picking flowers. Unbeknownst to me, unbeknownst to anyone, she had sold me, manipulated Hades into leaving his home so he can take me as a prize, as his unwilling wife. 

It didn’t matter what I wanted, only that she show any woman who had thoughts of joining me, that I was a hypocrite, that I had given up my pledge, and conformed to her standard, just like they should. 

At first, I waited to be rescued, I thought that someone would come, someone would find me. Then I gave up on that and started to blame myself. When Hades had grabbed me, I didn’t fight him, I didn’t scream out, I was scared, yes, but that hadn’t been the reason. I remained quiet because deep down I knew that no one would help me. If I had screamed for help, what would my friends have done? What could they have done? The moment I saw him, I was alone. It isn’t a woman’s instinct to help her sister, maybe it was once, but somewhere along the way, our competition with each other became a self-betrayal. Each woman is on her own, to fight her own battles. 

Me: But you were rescued.

Persephone: I was cut in half, split down the middle, once I was his, I could never not be, but I could go home and visit my mother every now and again.

Women didn’t have the rights that you do now, women were considered property, to the point where we thought of ourselves as that too. We had one true purpose, our bodies were the vessels of men, and to deny that, to suggest that we weren’t… no one was ever going to truly be on my side.