Wild Child
When I was a little girl, I was more like a ball of fire than a child. Always on the run, I marched to the beat of my own drum—a true wild child. Adventurous, fearless, and untamed, I was whatever I decided to be in each moment.
But as I grew older, the world began to chip away at my confidence and shiny optimism. Reality whispered that magic wasn’t real, and I couldn’t bear the thought of settling for that. Slowly, I dimmed my light. I shrank myself to fit into boxes, to please others, to find a place where I could belong.
What started as a desire for acceptance turned into years of self-loathing. I pretended to be prim and proper, molding myself into what I thought I needed to be. I didn’t feel like other girls—I never had. No matter where I went, I felt like an alien. That constant loneliness weighed heavy, leaving me questioning my place on this earth. In this universe.
During my adolescent years, I desperately wanted to fit in, but it always felt impossible. I wasn’t just struggling to belong—I was struggling to believe it was okay to be my authentic self. People I loved told me the parts of me that burned brightest were flaws. They said I was too much—too sensitive, too dramatic, too high-maintenance. That my expectations were too high and I needed to settle down, be quiet, and blend in.
The rejection of my true self led to a vicious cycle of bitterness and exhaustion. I hated who I was and felt unworthy of who I wanted to be. I became a hollow version of myself—a shell.
Are you there God? It’s me, Isabelle Margaret.
One day, in the depths of that emptiness, I thought back to the little girl I used to be. The one who was brave and fearless. The one who never asked for permission to live, dream, or exist. She believed the best was hers for the taking. Where had that girl gone? What had changed?
In that moment, I had an epiphany: What if I could find her again? What if I could rekindle that fire? The wild.
It wasn’t easy, but I began peeling back the layers of hurt and pain that had buried my soul. Slowly, I shed the false narratives and expectations that had been placed on me. I realized I had to forget who I was to truly come back home to myself.
The people who once belittled me, questioned my heart, and dimmed my light no longer had access to me. I started celebrating the qualities that made me unique—my honesty, my passion, my depth, my intensity. I began to see the beauty in my need to live deeply and authentically. The lust for life I had once known came flooding back.
I surrendered. I ended the war within.
When you invite every fiber of your being back into your life, magic happens. The weight lifts, and suddenly, everything makes sense. The dots connect. It took me years to understand that there was never anything wrong with me. I was simply not everyone’s cup of tea, and for that, I am grateful.
Sometimes, you have to lose yourself completely to find your way back.
Now, I love being this wild child. Some might call it coincidence, but I know the universe makes no mistakes. Being unapologetically me is the greatest gift I’ve ever received.
I’ve learned that I don’t need anyone else’s permission to be myself. I validate my own existence, my dreams, and my power. I am free—free to create the life I’ve always wanted, to embody the person I’ve always needed.
With that freedom comes strength. I say what needs to be said, love with an overflowing heart, bare my teeth when necessary, and thank the stars for the power I’ve reclaimed.
I will always be wild. I will never fit in the box the world has made for me. I am a spirit living a human experience—a limitless creator of my reality.
I know now it’s okay to be misunderstood. Most people can only see me as deeply as they see themselves. I am a mirror to their own consciousness. For those who truly understand me—or seek to—there is a reason you’re here, reading this. You, too, are meant to awaken. To activate. To be wild.
Though I’m no longer a little girl, she still lives within me. She is why I dream, why I create, why I fight for the life I deserve. She is still wild, and she always will be.
I am not a stereotype, a narrative, or another cog in the system. I am a rebel. A paradox. A rogue force of nature. I am where pain transforms into beauty and power.
I choose. I am. This is my life and my story. I rewrote my script and reclaimed my truth.
What story are you telling?
