Beloved Lilith,
I have said yes for most of my life, beloved, even when I meant no.
Yes to the extra load. Yes to the role that did not fit. Yes to being the one who keeps everything going. Yes to making myself a little smaller so that someone else could feel a little bigger. I called it kindness. Sometimes it was. Sometimes it was only fear.
Then I met you in an old, strange story. The first woman, made from the same earth as the first man. When he told you to lie beneath him, you said: we are equal. We were both made from the earth. And when he would not listen, you did not stay and shrink. You spoke, and you rose into the air, and you left the garden.
For that, beloved, they made you a monster. For a thousand years, your name was a warning: this is what becomes of a woman who will not obey.
I come to you carefully. I know your story belongs first to Jewish tradition, and that for many it is still a story of a feared and dangerous spirit. I do not want to erase that. But I also know that in the last fifty years, Jewish women writers went back to your story and found something else in it: a woman who refused to be made smaller.
That is the Lilith I have come to meet. The one who knew her own worth before anyone else would say it. The one who chose the wild, windy places over a garden where she could not be whole.
I am learning to say no, beloved. Teach me that a true no can be sacred too.
I
Her Storythe one who would not lie beneath
Lilith's story is long, tangled and still argued over, and it is worth telling honestly.
Her name may reach back to ancient Mesopotamia, where texts speak of the lilitu, spirits of the wind and the night, often feared as dangers to women and infants. A Sumerian poem about the hero Gilgamesh mentions a young woman who makes her home in the goddess Inanna's sacred tree; some scholars have connected her to Lilith, though that link is debated.
In the Hebrew Bible, the name appears only once, in Isaiah 34:14, in a vision of a land laid waste and given over to wild creatures. Older English Bibles translated the word as screech owl. Many modern translations simply leave it as Lilith. She is a creature of the wilderness, resting among the ruins.
In the Talmud and later Jewish folklore, Lilith became a demon of the night, described with long hair and sometimes with wings. People hung amulets to protect newborns and mothers from her. For many centuries, this was who Lilith was: something to be feared and kept outside.
Her most famous story comes from a strange medieval Hebrew text called the Alphabet of Ben Sira, written perhaps a thousand years ago, and read by many scholars as partly satirical. In it, Lilith is the first wife of Adam, created from the earth just as he was.
When Adam insists that she lie beneath him, she refuses. We are equal, she says, for we were both created from the earth. Neither will give way. So Lilith speaks the holy name of God and flies away into the air, to the shores of the Red Sea.
Three angels are sent to bring her back. She will not come. In the story, she bargains with them instead, and the tale ends by explaining the amulets that bear the angels' names. In this telling, the first woman who would not be made smaller becomes a demon.
For a thousand years, her refusal was told as a warning. In the last fifty, many have read it as a kind of courage.
In 1972, the Jewish feminist theologian Judith Plaskow wrote a short, beloved story called The Coming of Lilith, imagining Lilith and Eve meeting at last in the garden and recognizing each other as sisters. In 1976, a Jewish feminist magazine took her name: Lilith. Since then, she has become, for many people, a symbol of a woman's right to equality, to her own voice, and to leave a place where she is not allowed to be whole.
Both of these Liliths still exist. For some, she remains a figure of danger in religious tradition. For others, she is a reclaimed sister. This letter comes to her as a guest, with respect for both, and with gratitude to the Jewish writers who opened the door.
In the image at the top of this letter, she floats on dark water with her eyes closed and her hand over her heart, crowned with a golden crescent moon. A split pomegranate, red lilies and old pages drift around her. She is not fleeing anymore. She is at rest, in her own wild place.
II
Her Symbolismwhere to find her
≋The night wind
The lilitu were spirits of the wind, and in the old story Lilith rises into the air when she will not stay. In your life she is the moment you finally feel free enough to breathe. Some kinds of freedom only arrive when you leave.
⌒The wings
Later tradition gave her wings. They were meant to make her frightening. Today many read them as the power to rise above a situation that diminishes you. You were never meant to be grounded by someone else's fear.
▲The wilderness
In Isaiah, she rests among the ruins, in the wild places where no one rules. In your life, she is in every place where you are free to be fully yourself, even when it is lonely. Solitude can be a homecoming.
◉The owl
Old translations turned her name into the screech owl, the bird of night. The owl sees in the dark and is not afraid of it. Neither is she.
☾The crescent moon
She wears a crescent crown in the image above, the moon of the night sky she belongs to. Modern astrologers also name a point in the moon's orbit Black Moon Lilith, a newer symbol of the wild, unsoftened self.
◖The pomegranate
A pomegranate lies split open beside her in the image above, its red seeds spilling out. It is Persephone's fruit more than Lilith's, but it belongs here too: what is hidden inside, finally opened to the light.
▯The open door
The door out of the garden. The leaving that frightened everyone. In your life, she is near whenever you choose to walk out of a room, a role or a relationship where you could not be whole.
✦The ones who said no
She is with everyone who has refused to be made smaller. Everyone who left and was called selfish for it. Everyone whose boundaries were called cruelty. And with everyone still learning that their no is allowed.
III
An Intentionthe sacred no
When you sit with Lilith, the question is not how do I keep everyone comfortable.
The question is: where am I making myself smaller, and what would it take to stand as an equal?
Hold this. Many of us were taught that a good person says yes. That refusing is rude, that leaving is selfish, that taking up equal space is too much. We learned to lie beneath other people's needs and call it love.
Set the intention this season to find your sacred no. Not a cruel no. Not a no to everything. One honest no, to one thing that is diminishing you.
And here is the deeper invitation: stop believing the story that your refusal makes you a monster. For a thousand years, Lilith's no was told as a warning. It was only ever a woman saying we are equal. Your no is not a crime. It may be the beginning of your freedom.
You do not have to leave every garden. You only have to stop shrinking in the ones you stay in.
Stand as an equal. Speak. Rise if you need to.
IV
A Visualizationthe door out of the garden
Find a quiet place to sit, in the evening if you can, near an open window if the weather allows. Place one hand on your heart. Close your eyes and breathe slowly.
You are standing in a beautiful garden. Everything is green and orderly and quiet. But you notice that you are standing very small, shoulders curled, voice tucked away, making room for everyone else. You have been standing like this for a long time.
At the far edge of the garden is a gate, and beyond it, the wild night: open sky, a crescent moon, wind moving through tall grass.
You hear the wind call your name.
You walk toward the gate. Someone is waiting there, just outside. A woman with long, wild hair blowing in the night air, a golden crescent moon on her brow, her hand resting over her heart. She does not beckon you. She does not pull you. She simply waits, and looks at you as an equal.
You can stay, she seems to say. Or you can go. But you do not have to stand small anymore, wherever you are.
Notice what happens in your body when you hear that. Let your shoulders straighten. Let your chest open. Let your full height return.
Step through the gate if you want to. Feel the cool night wind on your face. Feel how much room there is out here. Breathe it in.
She turns, and opens her arms like wings, and the wind lifts her hair. You open your arms too. For a moment, you feel what it would be like to rise.
Stay as long as you like in the wild night. When you are ready, let your arms come down, feel your hand back on your heart, feel the floor beneath you, and open your eyes, still standing at your full height.
V
An Invocationto speak aloud
Lilith comes from Jewish folklore, where for many she remains a feared figure, and she has been reclaimed by Jewish feminist writers. Speak this as a guest, with respect for both, standing tall.
Lilith,
first to say no,
made from the same earth,
spirit of the night wind,
who would not lie beneath:
I call you to this room.
I call you to the part of me
that has been made small for so long
it forgot its own height,
that said yes and yes and yes
and lost its voice in the saying.
Teach me the sacred no.
Teach me to say we are equal
and mean it.
Teach me that leaving
can be an act of courage,
and that my refusal
does not make me a monster.
When I am called selfish
for standing at my full height,
remind me of the night wind,
the open sky,
the room there is
outside the garden.
Lilith,
I am standing up.
So it is. So it is. So it is.
VI
A Ritual in Her Honorthe word of refusal
You will need · tick as you gather
IThe Setting
At dusk, sit near an open window or step out into the evening air. If you like, turn on a battery candle and set the fruit beside you.
Stand up tall, as tall as you comfortably can. Place a hand over your heart and say: Lilith, I have come to find my sacred no.
IIWhere I Am Small
In your journal, write: Where I make myself smaller. Name the places honestly. The relationships, the roles, the rooms where you lower your voice, curl your shoulders and say yes when you mean no.
Beside each one, write what you are afraid would happen if you stood at your full height there.
IIIThe Word of Refusal
Choose one thing from your list that you are ready to refuse. Not everything. One thing.
On the slip of paper, write your no as a single clear sentence: No, I will not keep... No, I will no longer... No, I am not available for...
Then say it out loud, standing tall, in a full voice. Say it again, a little louder. Notice how it feels in your body.
IVWe Are Equal
Turn the slip of paper over and write on the back: We are equal. I was made from the same earth.
Open your arms wide, like wings, and feel the night air on your face. Breathe deeply three times. Imagine the wind carrying away the old habit of shrinking.
VThe Sweetness of Freedom
Eat a few pomegranate seeds slowly, or whatever red fruit you chose. Taste the sweetness of keeping something for yourself.
Fold the slip of paper and keep it in your wallet or pocket this week. When the moment comes to say your no, touch it, and remember the woman who would not lie beneath.
Close the window, turn off the light, and say: My no is sacred. I am free to stand at my full height.
If you step outside at dusk, choose a safe, familiar spot. Keep pomegranate and other fruit away from pets, and avoid lilies like those in the image, which are dangerous to cats. Use a battery candle rather than an open flame. Saying no can feel risky in some situations. If a relationship ever makes you feel unsafe, please reach out to someone you trust, a local support service or, in an emergency, emergency services. Your safety comes first.
VII
A Final Wordyou are allowed to leave
Beloved, I want you to know this:
For a thousand years, a woman who said we are equal was turned into a monster. Her refusal was told as a warning to every woman who might think of doing the same.
And still, her story survived. And in our own time, Jewish women went back to it and found a sister there.
Your no does not make you a monster. It may be the most honest thing you say all year.
You do not have to say no to everything. You do not have to leave every garden. But you do not have to stand small in any of them.
Stand at your full height. Speak with your full voice. Take up the space that is yours, the same as anyone's.
And if you ever need to leave a place where you cannot be whole, remember the night wind, the open sky, and the woman who rose into it.
We are equal, beloved. You were made from the same earth. Stand up.
With love and wind-lifted, open hands,
the one writing to you,
and the one who is also you,
and the one who is learning,
at last, to say no.
Back to the Divine Feminine