Introduction

In a world where at least 200 million women and girls alive today have undergone female genital mutilation, 120 million girls worldwide have experienced forced intercourse or other sexual acts and child marriage and domestic violence are on the increase, It’s time that we women united in our power, stepped into our truth and owned who we are, even the dark and uncomfortable parts of us, because that is how we collectively heal.

That is how we be the change.

That is how we put an end to these shocking statistics.

That is how we raise our kids to be the fullest expression of themselves and be the leaders of their life.

It starts with us.

As women we know what it’s like to be too much.

Too emotional.

Too sensitive.

Too quiet.

Too confident.

Too shy.

Too prudish.

Too slutty.

Too posh.

Too common.

Too intelligent.

Too thick.

Too something. ALWAYS too something.

I personally know what it’s like to desperately want love and approval without condition and when you don’t receive it to go on a long, dark and devastating journey to find it.

I know what it’s like to use your body as power over men because somehow you’ve been given the message that that’s all you are, that that’s how you validate your place in this world, that that’s the only way to get love and attention.

I also know what it’s like to have bruised ribs and a black eye, to be co-dependent and addicted to an emotionally abusive partner, because someone who supposedly loves you feeds into your feelings of self-loathing.

I’ve done the drugs. Years of destroying myself with alcohol. Nights I’ve blacked out and still have no recollection of events.

I’ve abused my body with laxatives, starvation and gruelling exercise regimes. Desperately trying to mould it into something more lovable so that I could attract – or KEEP – a man because that’s the only way, in my mind, that I could prove my worth.

I’ve had massively psychotic episodes and lashed out at the people I care about while allowing myself to be treated like dirt by the assholes who, in truth, didn’t give a shit about themselves.

I’ve been dumped for being too “common”, for not being educated enough. And I’ve been ridiculed for being too “posh”.

I’ve been sacked from several jobs and so far removed from my straight A potential because I’ve been told “you’ll never be good enough to work at X”, “you’ll never make it to being a Y”, “you don’t look like someone who got these grades”.

And I've tried to kill myself. For real.

My story isn't unique.

It is one that is mirrored every day in the lives of hundreds, thousands, MILLIONS of women in the world. Which is why Uncaged: The Rise of the Badass was born.

I have brought together 33 trail-blazing, world-changing women on a mission to collaborate and share their stories of struggle to strength, turning their mess into their message to empower women to say NO MORE.

NO MORE to passing on old patriarchal beliefs and wounds.

NO MORE to allowing women to be treated less than who they really are.

NO MORE allowing our voices to be silenced.

NO MORE taking on other peoples insecurities as our own.

NO MORE living in shame for being human.

If we want to see change in this world, to stand up for all women, for HUMANITY, then it starts with us.

WE need to be the change. Each and every one of us reading this book today.

This book is going to take you on an adventure into the unknown. You'll be taken to some dark and uncomfortable places yet you'll find peace and light as you connect more and more with the truth that lies within your soul.

You will emerge feeling empowered, inspired, seeing the world from a whole new perspective as you awaken into the wild woman you were born to be.

When you empower a woman you empower a child.

And THAT is how we change the world.

CHAPTER 1: 

FROM TRAPPED SOUL TO LIVING A LIFE LESS CAGED

By Michelle Catanach

“No one can make you feel inferior without
your consent”

~ Eleanor Roosevelt

Have you ever wanted to die?

I am not talking about wishing the ground would open up and swallow you in one of those excruciatingly
embarrassing moments.

I mean real death. The kind when you truly, genuinely do not want to live anymore. The kind when you deliberately act, with all intent and purpose, to attempt suicide.

This is not the cry for help or attention seeking type with the hope a knight in shining armour will ride up on a white horse and save you kind.

It is because you have an undeniable belief that the world would be a happier and better place without you contributing another second of your worthless existence.

That is how I felt in 2001. I was 19 years old.

I remember that night as if it were yesterday, out enjoying a drink with friends in our regular haunt. I use “enjoying” loosely. In reality alcohol was my way to numb out and slay my demons. It was that period in my life when I spent every night out boozing for fear of missing out and to fill the void of what was an otherwise unexciting life. I did not even have any hobbies. I would wake up, go to work then to the pub. A pattern repeated each day and every single day. Wash, rinse, repeat.

That night I drank more than usual and became drunk. Booze made me a more fun and exciting person to be around, helping me lose my inhibitions and create a mask of confidence. It helped me to take my mind off the emptiness I felt inside.

I was grieving that night, or at least that’s how it felt. The loss of my ex after yet another volatile breakup had left me in a state of mourning.

I remember drinking copious amounts of vodka to hide my sadness. I was free of him, so should have been celebrating, not drowning my sorrows. He was a complete bastard. Everyone told me so. Yet I didn’t see it. More than two years of torment and manipulation meant I was co-dependent and needy, convinced that I was nothing without him. Believed that I needed him to survive. I was laughing on the outside, flirting
with anyone with a pulse, yet crying on the inside, the voices and insecurities getting stronger the more inebriated I became.

The walk home was long and lonely without him by my side, yet the torment and abuse would have been unbearable if he was. I trudged through puddles, the rain drowning me and leaving me looking scruffy and bedraggled. I looked old for my 19 years. The way I walked, the clothes I wore and the pained expression set in my face, far removed from the vibrant and happy girl I had once been.

I found myself calling him, begging him to take me back, sobbing as he screamed a torrent of abuse and profanities down the phone.

He was right.

I was a slag. A nutcase. A whore.

No one wanted me. Why would they? Even my family were ashamed and embarrassed by me.

At least he had wanted me. He had pitied me and taken the burden off someone else by being with me. He had done the world a favour; taken one for the team as they say, now even he had walked away. He could not bear the burden any longer.

At least that is what he made me believe.

I felt so alone. I did not have anyone to talk to. I had spent so many years believing that showing emotion and asking for help was a weakness. I did not know how to express my feelings. If anyone took the time to ask, I would smile like a good girl, saying everything was ok, instead bottling all my pain, sadness and loneliness up inside.

The truth was I was addicted to him like a crack addict needing that next fix. I needed him. Without him I felt I was nothing. He gave me a reason to wake up every morning even if it meant crying myself to sleep by bedtime.

A DARK DECISION

I remember reaching home. Still swaying as I fumbled around for my door key, tear-stained and bleary eyed. I staggered down the hallway and into the kitchen. The gaudy green and orange
cupboards illuminated in the moonlight.

At this point I was not really thinking anything. I knew what I had to do. It had been an easy decision to make. I did not even consider the outcome. The effect it would have on the people around me. What would it matter; I would be dead.

The house was eerily silent as I opened the kitchen cupboard where I knew a stash of pills were stored. My hand blindly grappled around in the dark, rattling condiments and tins as I
reached to the back of the cupboard. I pulled out whatever I could find.

I took as many as a could; one by one. Rapidly pushing my feelings of self-loathing, loss and loneliness down with every swallow. Praying, praying that whatever they were, they would work and end my existence. I wanted to vanish from this world.

I have no memory of how many I took. I did not even know what I was taking. I did not care. They were drugs. Pills. They had to kill me if taken in excess. Right?

In my selfishness, I did not give a shit about the outcome. No-one gave a shit about me, so why should I give a toss about them? I simply focused on the task in hand. I was so angry with me, the world, the universe.

And then I went to bed.

*******************************************

I awoke dazed and confused, my head throbbing as the room spun. I vomited into a pint glass that was on the floor beside my bed, initially impressed with myself that I had avoided spewing
on the carpet.

Then it hit me, like a juggernaut at 100mph.

I was still alive.

To this day, I will never forget the wave of disappoint engulf my entire body as I realised that my attempt to end it all had failed. All the feelings of hurt, pain, hatred and despair came flooding in like a tsunami, leaving me in a crumpled, sobbing heap on my bed. I was so useless, I could not even take my own life properly.

I felt like I was grieving all over again.

Of course, I carried on like nothing had happened, leaving the house that morning, my mum ranting as I left, affirming everything I already knew about me being a useless waste of space.

Me being late for work with what she believed was simply yet another hangover only added more fuel to her flame.

I called in sick at work then spent two hours sitting on the swing of a children’s playground, head in hands, routinely vomiting as my body desperately tried to expel the toxins.

No one knew what I had done. In fact, it took several years before I confessed to anybody.

I would like to say that this experience woke me up. That I saw that I had a second chance in life. Something to live for. That I would radically transform and live out my soul’s desires. I
would find my passion in life and spend my time trying to attain it.

But it did not. It was simply another chapter of a deeply troubled life that in all truthfulness had not reached rock-bottom from its spiral downwards from the age of 16.

HAD I SEEN THE LIGHT?

Please do not judge me. I know what you as my readers must be thinking about me. Is she selfish and self-centred that she has no respect for the people around her? Why can she not see she has been gifted a second chance to find her way again? Well, not all stories have silver linings.

I needed my fix, my drug, my cocaine, my high, my self-loathing, my addiction to pain, so I got back with my ex again after that night. We even moved in together. Thus began six months of
emotional bullying, the odd black-eye and bruised ribs. I went to work struggling to make ends meet while he bummed around smoking pot and watching porn all day.

Such was his power, his control, that everyone thought it was me. I was the problem. They saw a crazed, nagging girlfriend. Yet what they didn’t see was the powerless girl reacting to
whispered threats and muttered taunts while he acted like the innocent, downtrodden, charming boyfriend to the outside world.

I absolutely despised the guy, but felt too weak to leave.  I fell into a deeper depression, stuck in a limbo of not wanting to be at home and not wanting to be at work. Not wanting to be anywhere. Until one day I found myself with my hands around his throat, squeezing it tight, desperately trying to rid myself of this nightmare that I had found myself living in.

For a moment I really wanted to kill him. To end the torture.

The only thing that stopped me was the thought of a prison sentence. And he really was not worth it.

It was then that I knew I had to leave.

This triggered several years of self-destructive behaviour as I found solace in anything that would make me feel validated, loved or simply numb the pain.  

Drugs, excessive drinking, countless one-night-stands, toxic friendships, excessive dieting, binge eating, rebounding from one job to another, clinging on to lousy men while pushing away
any chance of happiness. Anything that made me feel good while supporting a deeply embedded unconscious belief that I was not worthy enough.

I was a far cry from the straight A student of my school days who had had so much promise and potential. And a far greater cry from the baby given the spiritual name of Joy for the delight she would supposedly bring to other people’s lives.

THE RETURN OF JOY

I had become comfortably numb as the song goes. I was nobody. I felt nothing. I was existing yet not living. It seemed I had been lost for a lifetime.

Then one day, I had my “Forest Gump” moment. No!! I did not start running as in real running. I had been running away all my life. This time I was going to run with purpose. I made the decision to travel.

Travelling had been a dreamof mine for years, but I had been so sucked in by my boozy lifestyle and toxic relationships that I did not have the motivation – or self-belief - to actually do it; only lame excuses not to.

Then I met Steve. He had already travelled the world on two occasions. He took me on holiday to Cambodia and after being so touched by the experience, it was then that I knew: I had to travel.

I asked Steve to join me. Reluctantly he agreed. Our first year together had been hell (for him). So convinced was I that he was just like all the others that I constantly tried to provoke him to prove my belief that all men were arseholes. In reality I was
the aggressor, often violently lashing out after too much drink. He, of course, never retaliated.

Travelling was the making of me and while it forces many couples apart, it brought Steve and I closer together. Away from the people, places and situations that triggered my insecurities, I was able to see things clearly.

I finally understood love, compassion and humanity. I understood how the world really worked, witnessing genuine innate happiness in people with materially poor lives.  I observed pure joy and gratitude despite obvious hardship and often traumatic pasts.

I realised that Steve was not like all the others and that he was in fact a decent bloke (and double brownie points for putting up with so much of my shit when most men would simply walk
away).

But most of all, I made peace with myself. I accepted myself and no longer felt ashamed of who I was.

When I stood on top of a relatively small mountain in Australia’s Warrumbungle National Park on my 26th birthday, for the first time in 10 years I felt free. I had finally left the bullshit of the past behind.

Joy had found her way home.

SPIRALLING INTO THE SHADOW

Following that day, life became pretty phenomenal. I overcame eating issues and shed a load of weight (without even trying). I drastically cut down on the booze. I discovered hobbies and a passion for learning. I cycled from London to Paris and ran my
first half marathon, feats that before I would not have considered trying. I had more travelling adventures. I attracted some amazing people into my life, forming deep and meaningful connections and my career, which had always been a non-starter, soared.

And remember Steve? Against all odds we got married (in Vegas!) and now have two gorgeous children (and this despite my own resistance and belief that I did not deserve kids).

Then I followed my dream. I left work to have baby number 2, set up a business then BOOM!

All the crap about me not being good enough, stuff that I thought I had overcome, well, the truth is I had just filed it away. I had not addressed the other me. The real me? I was locked away in the shadowy depths of my mind waiting to be found. I was found and I came back with a vengeance.

I felt my life spiralling downwards again. All those old feelings of shame and self-loathing were creeping back. I felt like a failure. I was a terrible mother. A lousy wife. My business was a sinking ship weighted down by mounting debt.

I started drinking more alcohol than normal, bingeing on junk and not taking very good care of myself.

I retreated into myself, pushing people away and felt ashamed for imagining life without my kids. The stress and overwhelm was all consuming and I simply did not recognise the person I was anymore. I only knew I did not like who I was becoming.

TURNING MY WOUNDS INTO MY WORK

Then it happened. My 3-year-old daughter hit me. Really hit me! My anger took over. In that moment all my pent up frustration came out as I picked her up by her shoulders and shouted loudly in her face, took her to her room and threw her  - like a
rag doll - onto her bed.

When I saw her sobbing inconsolably, pleading with me with her eyes, it's like I woke up.

I saw me. My inner child who wanted nothing more than to be loved. And I realised in that moment that I had turned into all the women before me, unleashing generations of wounds,
patriarchal patterns and insecurities onto the one person I had always vowed to protect.

I knew that I wanted better for my daughter. I knew that I wanted her to grow up free from insecurity and suffering, to be able to fully express herself, to love herself, to be loved and know her worth and give her the freedom to live HER life, not mine.

When I looked at my daughter, full of unconditional love, so pure and innocent, when I realised that her challenging behaviour was a mirror of me, I knew that I had to set myself free from my shadow.

The generations of hurt and wounding had to stop with me so that I could leave a better legacy for my children.

READER’S NOTES

Feeling is healing.

When you allow yourself to be present with your feelings in any given moment - even the dark and uncomfortable ones - you allow nature to take its course. You can process your emotions and allow the energy to flow through you. 

When you stuff your feelings down, hiding parts of yourself through fear and shame, you become a pressure-cooker of pent up emotions and stagnant energy ready to explode.

Who you BE is who your children become.

If you want to raise children who are deeply connected to who they really are and live as the fullest expression of themselves – physically, emotionally and spiritually including all the messy parts - then YOU need to be the change. YOU need to be that
person.

You need to stand in your own power, walk your own path and live as the most authentic embodiment of you because it gives your children permission to do the same.

Take a moment to reflect on these questions:

- Where in your life are you hiding behind a mask?

- What truths are you not
speaking?

- What emotions are not being
fully expressed and why?

- What is your biggest fear
when it comes to living as the fullest expression of you?

BIO

Michelle Catanach aka The Uncaged Mama helps women uncage themselves, their kids and their lives using the power of consciousness, connection and creativity. Michelle’s
vision is that every child lives as the fullest, boldest version of their true self without shame weighing them down and crushing their spirit....and it starts with women being the change. She believes that by empowering women we empower our children and THAT is how we change the world. Michelle lives in Amersham in the UK with her two spirited children and adorable husband. She’s obsessed with campervans, avocados and has been described as an undercover hippy. 

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