Worn Out Selkie Skin

I had a reading last weekend and the main message that came through was: You need to die.

The person doing the reading (my sister) said I had already shed my skin like a snake, but that I kept putting it back on like a jacket. And it was time to let it go.

Ironically, I had just had a conversation with a very magical lady about selkies. We had connected before through a mutual friend, then she found an old post I wrote about selkies and asked me to elaborate on my selkie journey.

  Photo by  Alec Weir  on  Unsplash  (Used with permission)

Photo by Alec Weir on Unsplash (Used with permission)

Selkie is an archetype I connected with after my last breakup, realizing that I had given up my selkie skin to be with the land-dwelling man I loved. I was irresponsible with that skin. I left it out in the open and it was snatched away from me. Lost.

When he left, I felt like I was finding my skin again and learning how to be very careful and deliberate with where I left it. But…I also felt something else I couldn't quite put my finger on until my sister made the snake analogy. Like maybe that old selkie skin didn't quite fit anymore…

I am still uncertain, even after days of thinking it over. Which part of me is the shed snake skin that I'm still wearing? Which part of me is the old, ill-fitting selkie pelt? And how does one find the new skin underneath? Is there such a thing as making that kind of fresh start?

Those who shed skins are the people and beings who walk between the worlds. In that sense, I find it very hard to pinpoint everything that's real and true about me. Some is real in this world and not in others. Some is true in other worlds but not this one.

But the word "true" makes me think of being true to yourself - true to your skin (whichever world you might be in). I still feel that I keep some of my skin hidden in the "real" world because I'm afraid to let colleagues and outsiders know what I do. I pretend my life as a writer and artist and blogger doesn't exist at work. Not true to my skin, at all. That feels like wearing a jacket. Like wearing a false skin to blend in with the rest of the "normals." (If there's really such a thing as being normal.)

And if that's the skin I'm supposed to shed once and for all…well, that just gives me the chills. (I need that jacket back!) I can hardly think of anything scarier than that. But at the same time, something in me knows I have to "come out" before the end of the year or I'm never going to get where I want to get.

I suppose it's possible that I can't even find my true-fitting skin until I start to let the shed skin go, once and for all.