I used to think I had an issue with women in authority.

That something in me bristled when they spoke, corrected, directed.
That maybe it was some deep mother wound I hadn’t healed yet.
But that wasn’t it.

It wasn’t about women.
And it wasn’t about authority.

It was about people — anyone — who step into a role of assumed superiority.
Who confuse their job title with spiritual alignment.
Who believe that because they’re the tutor, they’re also the teacher of me.

Yes, you might be guiding a group.
Yes, you might be older, more experienced in the field.
But you don’t get to parent me.

You don’t get to psychoanalyse me without consent.
You don’t get to pull something I shared in vulnerability six months ago and use it as a public lesson.
You don’t get to suggest I “have work to do” — as if you know the terrain I’ve walked.

Because truth is, I’ve probably done more inner work than you.
Not in theory — in blood. In silence. In nights I didn’t think I’d survive.

And maybe that threatens you.

Maybe it’s easier to project down than meet me level.

But let me be clear:

I’m not your student in the school of self.
I’m not a blank slate waiting to be shaped.
I’m not looking for a parent — I’m looking for mutuality.

If you can’t offer that, I’ll find the door.
Not as rebellion.
Not as ego.

But as respect — for myself.

Because power doesn’t make you wise.
And authority doesn’t mean you’re aligned.