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Maiden, Mother, Crone in Me The Maiden in me listens first. She feels before she knows. She trusts the way light enters a room without asking if it belongs. She walks toward what stirs her, curious, unarmored, learning the world by touch and breath. The Mother in me stays. She holds what trembles. She knows how to wait with open hands, how to feed what is growing without rushing its shape. She makes room for joy and grief at the same table, and calls them both home. The Crone in me remembers. She does not chase. She has seen enough cycles to know that nothing true is lost. She speaks softly, if at all, and when she says no, the ground agrees with her. These are not stages I pass through. They move in me together. Some days the Maiden leads, some days the Mother steadies, some days the Crone watches in silence. I am not becoming one of them. I am learning to let each speak when her time is right. Maiden, Mother, Crone— not above me, not behind me, but breathing through me, keeping me whole. A Vision by Alina Content created with AI. © 2026 Alina Teodorescu — All Rights Reserved