Compost #4: Control
Surrender to beauty. Anchor to creativty.
Buckle up, friends. 2026 is about to be a wild ride. If I want to stay alive, everything must change. If I want to move forward with integrity and alignment, the life I’ve built over the past five years must burn. It’s time to disappoint others to save myself.
The problem is, I have no idea what any of this looks like yet. Destination unknown. The only thing I know for certain is that my lease ends in May, and I will not be re-signing.
My brain is buzzing with fear, anticipation, overwhelm, and panic, causing the food restriction neuro pathways to reignite. Voices of control haunt my every waking hour.
Nothing is certain, so why not control? Nothing is certain, so why not restrict? Nothing is certain, so why not dull the emotional intensity of this season with hunger?
Luckily, my beloved ancestors have been visiting me in my dreams. They left me this love letter.
Dear Wildflower Girl,
Place your hand on your heart.
Take a deep breath.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Yes, the voices of control are loud. A younger Kelsi would’ve done anything she could to dull the edges of emotional intensity. Hunger works like a charm. But let’s take a step back, okay?
One thing is for certain—control, at its most basic form, is a pillar of whiteness. Forget lemons and lemonade. As a white woman, you were taught that when life gives you uncertainty, you control control control.
We, your beloved ancestors, survived the violence of patriarchal white supremacy by using control to fight for breadcrumbs of false power. As a result, we were robbed of our creativity. We spent our one wild and precious life clinging to a script of white womanhood that said: control = safety and uncertainty = DANGER.
We subconsciously taught you that love and belonging depend upon your ability to control yourself. Your body, appetite, sexuality, desires, wrinkles, intuition, voice, and reputation must be restricted at all costs. You were raised to believe that the more self-abandonment you endured, the safer you would be.
The voices of control come from our unresolved trauma. With all the mayhem happening right now, surely you can understand why we wanted to keep you safe.
We know poetry is your love language, flower child.
Hand on heart.
Deep breath.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I trust
that I am
so helplessly
intertwined with
what’s meant for me—
on a scale that I’m not even
supposed to fully understand—
in a future that’s been
calling me to it
& gently luring me in
ever since the day
I handed over the reins
I’d been gripping so tightly
that, turns out,
were never (thank goodness)
attached to anything at all
-jkkennedy
Here are three more things to be certain of, Wildflower Girl.
First, eat. Restriction is not the answer.
Second, the opposite of control is surrender. You can’t dull emotional intensity without also dulling beauty. Immerse yourself in everything that makes you want to live. Surrender to the beauty that hunger steals from you.
Third, the opposite of white womanhood is creativity. Write for us, the women who came before you. Break generational cycles. Anchor to creativity. Forget lemons and lemonade. When life gives you uncertainty, create create create.
Here’s a new script: control = self-harm and uncertainty = life. Change is inevitable. Uncertain times are here, and always will be. The most dangerous thing you can do is spend your one wild and precious life fighting for breadcrumbs of false power within violent structures of patriarchal white supremacy.
True safety comes from your internal garden of wildflowers. You can bloom anywhere, my love.
The reins of control that you have been gripping so tightly were never (thank goodness) attached to anything at all, except suffering.
The only way to move through this season of uncertainty without harming yourself is to trust that you are so helplessly intertwined with what’s meant for you that you can’t possibly fail.
Hand on heart.
Deep breath.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Jump. We will catch you. Eat. Surrender to beauty. Anchor to creativity. Let this letter drown out the voices of control.
💞 Your beloved ancestors
🌱 Control Compost Equation:
Carbon (control) + nitrogen (breadcrumbs of false power) + water (tears) + oxygen (deep cleansing breaths) + the art of decay = a nutrient-rich product used to fertilize wildflower soil
🌷Affirmation: I surrender to beauty and anchor to creativity.
🌼 Journal Prompts: What script were you given about control? What voices haunt you during seasons of uncertainty? In what ways are you still fighting for breadcrumbs of false power?
🪻Next Up: Compsot #5: The word alcoholic.
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