If a villain is what they want

If you bring my name up in certain rooms, I imagine the air gets tense. Side eyes. Held breath. Choice words. Some of it deserved. Some projection. All of it, at least a little bit true.

I was 23 years old when I first had to accept that someone I loved deeply might spend the rest of their life telling a true but incomplete story that painted me as a monster.

You can’t be afraid to be the villain.

It’s a truth I have learned and relearned. A truth I’ve memorized, recited, and shared. A truth I’m now being asked to embody.

Last week, my roommate Erin sent me a video by an artist named Vanessa Aldrich, who created something called The Villain Challenge. Think 75 Hard or The Artist’s Way, but for the evil genius within. In the video, Vanessa explains how much we can learn from villains.

“The villain is the model of integrity, commitment, discipline, and conviction...”

And she’s right. A villain knows what she wants and refuses to let anything or anyone get in her way. By constantly raising the bar and expecting the absolute best, the villain makes everyone around her better, enemies included.

The more I think about it, the more I realize a good villain is so much of what I want to be. Brilliant. Powerful. Disciplined. Bold. Free. Sexy. Feared.

Some might find it curious that villain work would come up for me in the same season I’m beginning full-time theological study. But I’m most drawn to the work that reclaims and untangles stories of mythical and historical figures we’ve been taught to fear.

I think of Lilith.
The first woman to choose herself.
My patron saint of walking away.

She’s inked into my skin and carved into my theology. When I think about what it means to be labeled a villain for refusing to contort myself into something a little more lovable and little less objectionable, I remember her power. Her story reminds me that wanting more and being “too much” doesn’t make you unworthy - it makes you the kind of woman they write legends about.

Last week, Erin also gave me an astrology reading that made this work feel especially personal. She pointed out that Chiron, the asteroid of our deepest wound and greatest capacity to heal, is in my 11th house of community, in Leo. It sits opposite my Lilith in the 5th house, the part of the chart associated with wild feminine power and creative liberation.

To her, it means my deepest wound is around being visible as my authentic self. And healing that wound could unlock my creativity and ripple outward to help others heal too. But what stands in the way of that healing is this core belief that if I show up as I am, people won’t like it.

And she’s not wrong.

A Fear of Being Seen

A couple years ago, I went on a terrible date with someone I really wanted to impress. Over dinner, he pulled out his phone and Googled me. Up popped my engagement photos from 2011 and an interview I gave in my twenties.

In that interview, I spoke about my experience as a mixed-race Black woman in language I would never use today. He laughed, joyfully torturing me by reading my words aloud, and I thought I might drown in the shame of who I used to be.

I stand by my heart at every age. But that version of me hadn’t lived enough. She didn’t have the context, the community, or the consciousness I have today. And even though I meant no harm, I know my words could have caused it.

As I sat there watching a man whose approval I craved - and whose instincts I trusted - scroll through my digital past with open judgment, a fear took root in me: What if my worst take outshines my best work?

And the thing is, I don’t just crave the approval of the people I date. I want your approval, too. I would love it if you liked me. If you saw the good in me. If you understood the choices I make. If you recognized my heart.

I’m terrified that the broken, wild parts of me will make me the kind of woman the world loves to root against.

These fears, and this longing to be seen as good, have been some of the biggest barriers to showing up and chasing my dreams.

But what’s the alternative? Play small? Stay hidden? Let fear write my story for me?

That still makes me the villain. Just in my story instead of theirs.

A Villain Origin Spread

The other morning, I curled up with my coffee, my journal, and three of my favorite tarot and oracle decks. I was ready to meet my inner villain.

From Our Tarot, a deck that reimagines the classic Rider-Waite cards through the stories of women in history, I pulled the Ace of Pentacles. It’s represented by Murasaki Shikibu, the woman credited with writing the first modern novel. As an aspiring writer, it felt like a kiss from on high.

From the Reclaim oracle deck, I drew four cards: Power. Support. Insecurity. Validation.

I’ve been reflecting on how these themes define my villain, her origin story, or this particular era of my life.

Here are some truths.

I crave power. Not to hoard, but to hold. To wield with intention and without apology.

I long to give and receive support. I want to be protected and held. I want to hold and protect. I am angry about the moments in life when I felt unsupported, and furious for the people who go through life with none.

I am insecure. Wounded, like every hero and villain before me.

And validation? That thing a villain pretends she doesn’t need? I won’t lie. This villain has a praise kink.

But maybe this is where I learn to see vitriol as applause in its own right.
Proof that at least once or twice, I chose myself.

Maybe this is the part where I let myself be visible. And free.
Even if it makes me the villain.

I know that being my most authentic self means letting go of my most palatable self.

I know that being my most powerful self means not letting anything stand between me and my dreams. Not setbacks. Not isolation. And certainly not a little judgment.

You can’t be afraid to be the villain, because you can’t avoid being the villain.
If you get through life managing not to be the villain in anyone else’s story, I suspect you’ll look around one day and realize you became the villain in your own.

I’d love to hear what resonated with you.

If something in this essay moved you - or if you know someone who needs to embrace their inner villain - I’d be so grateful if you shared it.

Want an astrology reading with Erin? Her books are open.

The Dirty Divine drops every other Sunday @ 10am PT😈🙏🏽

I’m so grateful for you!