Reclaiming the Crone

Last week, I wrote about Shirley Diesel, my imaginary friend from childhood. The response surprised me. Everyone seemed to remember their own version of Shirley Diesel.

For some it was a forgotten summer pastime or a stuffed animal, complete with a name and a personality. Others were reminded of a dream they never quite pursued. We were all remembering some version of ourselves that got set aside for a while.

Shirley Diesel followed me through childhood carrying all the confidence of someone who had never once worried about branding. This week, as I retire Therapy Truck and begin publishing under my own name, it feels a lot like meeting Shirley Diesel again after all these years.

I’m still writing about the same things that have interested me as I drove Therapy Truck through these Substack neighborhoods each week. Still, it feels a bit odd to put ‘Karen Davis’ on the door.

To make matters more complicated, I’m choosing to publish under my own name at precisely the moment our culture has decided “Karen” is a warning label. I often tell people, “I’m Karen, but I’m not that Karen.”

I’ve spent years trying to become a writer, a teacher, a clown, a radio host, and the occasional fairy godmother. Apparently, the final stage is simply being Karen.

Which sounds obvious until you’ve spent decades trying on names, roles, and identities to see which ones fit.

Maybe that’s why I’ve been thinking about the Crone lately.

In mythology, the Crone is often portrayed as an old woman. I’ve started to wonder if we’ve misunderstood her. The Crone isn’t the woman who has lost her youth. She’s the woman who has stopped abandoning herself.

Somewhere along the way, many of us begin trading pieces of ourselves for approval, practicality, or the desire to fit in. We stop wearing certain colors. We stop trying certain hobbies. We stop telling certain stories. We decide we’re too old, too busy, too sensible.

Many of us decide we’re too late.

The Crone tells us to stop being the editor of our own lives.

She reclaims the child who imagined, the adult who persevered, and all the strange, wonderful pieces gathered along the way.

The Crone can embrace them all as she finally stops apologizing.

She stops looking for a new self and starts making peace with the one she’s had all along.

The Crone gives us permission to imagine.

Permission to play.

Permission to be peculiar.

Permission to carry an inner life that nobody else can see.

Because wisdom isn’t becoming someone new.

Wisdom is finally inviting everyone into the room where Shirley Diesel has been waiting all along.

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