The Three Resistances as Portals for Women, Writers, and Warriors
Register for Natasha Thomas's three week class, WOMEN, WRITING & RESISTANCE starting Sept 29.
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will host a class with us starting September 29th. Register for WOMEN, WRITING & RESISTANCE here:As a writer, I know that when I sit down to square off with a creative block and a blank page, a few things will occur. First, I know both the creative block and the blank page will be insistent and stubborn. I know they will be impatient, relentless, and unyielding. I know the three of us will be deadlocked for a short time or a long time—usually a long time.
I know that I will, inevitably, be the one to fold.
I know the creative block and the blank page will, as always, show up as powerful hardliners and taskmasters. I know that what they care about more than anything—more than my excuses, procrastination, other tasks, or my eagerness to run from the challenges that can transform me—is my willingness to use my writing and spiritual practice to truly grapple with resistance.
In its various forms.
And for me, these resistances show up in three forms, in three distinct and undeniable ways.
The first resistance is the internal one—the kind that emerges in me, and in all of us, whenever we take our first tentative steps beyond our comfort zones. This resistance is Plutonian and dormant in nature, dwelling in the dark crucible of fear and self-doubt within us. It’s quiet, it sleeps, and it waits. When it senses us trying to break free from its grasp and expand beyond its reach, it rises up, incensed and ferocious.
“What the hell you think you doing?” it wants to know.“Where the hell you think you going?” “Who do you think you are?” You can’t. You won’t. You’re not. You never will be. Do this easier, more addictive, and destructive thing that will keep you stuck and sabotage your life instead.
This first resistance is an age-old entity, manifesting not just in my mind but in all our minds, throughout time and across cultures. As someone with a deep appreciation and affinity for comparative religion, spirituality, and mythology, I often reflect on how internal resistance is a recurring and universal theme—a timeless narrative of temptation and struggle woven into our archetypes, motifs, and stories.
When I encounter resistance now, my goal is not to deny or flee from it but to confront, embrace, and harness it fully as an opportunity for change and growth.
Steven Pressfield once said, “The more important an activity is to your soul’s evolution, the more resistance you will feel to it,” and we see this in our stories, where inner resistance is often externalized as devils, demons, or tricksters standing between the protagonist and their purpose. Consider the Biblical parable of Jesus wrestling with the devil’s temptations in the wilderness, or the Yoruba traditions where Eshu presents challenges to test Shango’s ambition and Obatala’s purity. In the ancient Hindu epic, the Ramayana, it’s Sita’s devotion and loyalty that are tested.
Earlier in my spiritual understanding, I saw these antagonists—devils, monsters, and temptations—as external forces, formidable enemies bent on attacking and defeating the protagonists, and by extension, me. But now, they point me back to myself. I see them as personifications of the monsters, demons, and devils within—self-defeating tendencies that test whether I truly want what I say I want and if I am who I claim to be.
Through my writing and contemplative spiritual practices—through the willingness to stare at blank pages and confront my shadows—I’ve learned to identify, understand, appreciate, and lovingly integrate these internal monsters into a whole human being. I now recognize that internal resistance is not “evil”; it’s actually a powerful messenger signaling blockage. It shows me where I am misaligned, where I am fearful, where I am resisting the release of control, and where I need to flow with the higher intelligence of life. When I encounter resistance now, my goal is not to deny or flee from it but to confront, embrace, and harness it fully as an opportunity for change and growth.
The second resistance I’m forced to contend with is the external kind—the daily challenges and obstacles of life. It’s the rejection letter in my inbox, the closed door on an opportunity, the failed attempt at a connection, the crushing disappointment. It’s the people, situations, and circumstances that show up as opposition, as obstructions to my voice, my expression, my abundance, my love, and my creativity.
This resistance is the one people can more easily identify and discuss. It’s the kind we’re most familiar with, and I, like everyone, know what it’s like to feel defeated by all the “no,” “not yet”’ and sometimes “never” that life presents us with.
But then, I think about the time I tried to get a job as a grant writer for a Black-owned organization whose mission I deeply appreciated. Although I had told myself I didn’t want to focus on more nonprofit administrative work, I was lured in by the lucrative pay and benefits. Even though grant writing isn’t my favorite form of writing, I’m very good at it and effective, having secured major funding for various individuals and organizations. It’s a skill that many people looking to fund their visions are willing to pay for. Despite my initial reluctance to spend a lot of time on grant writing, I was willing to pull it out for a cause I really support—and for a paycheck I really wanted.
I went into the interview feeling ready and confident, and left absolutely sure I had nailed it. I even called my best friend, telling her how I’d crushed it. In my mind, I was already spending that first big check.
I didn’t get the job.
I was devastated.
I gave myself permission to feel every negative, non-productive, sad, pessimistic, cynical, angry, victimized, and self-pitying emotion… deeply and fully. By that time in my life, I had come to recognize the immense healing value in allowing ourselves to experience the full gamut and totality of human emotions. I was no longer denying or running from darker emotions, understanding the necessary and critical role that they, too, play in making us whole and balanced human beings.
I did what my years of writing and contemplative spiritual practices had taught me: I focused on alchemizing the situation by sifting out the good, by finding the gift in this “no”—the blessings I could extract from it. I focused on how I could take this seeming loss and spin it into a golden lesson. That lesson came as a dawning realization that the rejection was really protecting me and shielding me from what I truly did not want. I did not enjoy grant writing. I no longer found joy in many of the tasks associated with public administration, including grant writing. I told myself I didn’t want to do any more grant writing; that’s how much I disliked it.
The realization that I was meant to be doing work that was more creative, more liberatory, and more of an authentic expression of who I truly was led me away from grant writing. Yet, that deep commitment to myself flew completely out the window when I saw what, in my mind, amounted to a lot of money for a skill set that, while not at all enjoyable to me, would allow me to cash in while safely ensconced in my prison of a comfort zone.
And because I have a clear spiritual agreement with the divine and ancestral forces that protect and guide my life, they weren’t going to let me go out like that.
They weren’t going to allow me to shift from being motivated by authenticity and commitment to who I truly was to being driven by money and fear of financial instability.
They weren’t going to let me transition from an abundant mindset of self-love to a scarcity mindset driven by financial concerns.
I had asked them to guide me, to correct me when I veered off my path, and to redirect me when I was headed toward anything that took me out of alignment, even if I was stubbornly convinced that I was making the right moves. In time, I was able to see that this is exactly what happened when this job opportunity didn’t pan out.
Later, I received additional confirmation that the “rejection was protection” when, through a series of conversations and coincidences, it came to light that this organization, while seemingly community- and social justice-oriented, treated its workers poorly and mismanaged funds. It had a public-facing facade that was very different from the stark and toxic internal culture its workers were subjected to. This facade eventually began to crumble, resulting in the organization losing funding and the trust of the community it served.
What this and countless others like this have taught me is that life hasn’t always given me what I wanted, but it has always given me what I needed.
Every “no” that I once felt devastated and defeated by, in hindsight, always led me closer to something that was truly meant for me—even if that “something” was a tough lesson designed to make me do better, tighten up, dream bigger, live more authentically, see more clearly, or love myself and others more deeply. What I now realize is that every “no” was really a blessing in disguise. I credit both my writing and contemplative spiritual practice for this radical shift in perspective, which has made me no longer experience the second resistance—this external one—as resistance at all. The alchemist soul in me, who understands life as the big picture, as the long game, knows it’s always a blessing, even when the egoic human in me—short-sighted, impatient, immature, and impulsive—can’t.
There are few teachers more equipped to teach us about endurance, resilience, and self-belief than this second resistance. If we claim to deeply want something but give up in defeat at the first, second, third, or even hundredth “no” we encounter from the world, the second resistance will make this painfully clear. It tests our ability to stick with our plans and persist toward a distant dream, challenging us to continue despite setbacks. Yes, I’ve learned to see the “no” as protection and redirection. However, knowing there are countless stories of people stopping and conceding defeat right before reaching the finish line, I never see it as a reason to quit—not when it comes to the goals and dreams that I know are connected to my purpose and meant for me. The second resistance taught me this.
The third and final resistance is both internal and external. It embodies what Audre Lorde meant when she said, 'The personal is political.' This resistance involves the internal work of defining, acknowledging, and embracing our identities, followed by the external work of collaborating with others in resistance movements to challenge, disrupt, and dismantle harmful and oppressive forces, policies, and systems that marginalize certain communities and identities.
This is social, political, and cultural resistance.
It is movement building.
It is Kujichagulia and Ujima.
This resistance is shaped by our familial and biological ancestors as well as our cultural and political forebears. As someone with a spiritual practice aligned with the divine feminine, my political resistance praxis is profoundly influenced and empowered by Black and Indigenous women. I draw strength from my familial matriarchs—Teresa, Rosa Lee, Anna, Patricia, Hubby, and Lyndava—as well as from my political and cultural foremothers, including Alice Walker, bell hooks, Zora Neale Hurston, Toni Morrison, Audre Lorde, Angela Davis, Ida B. Wells, Assata Shakur, Ella Baker, and Fannie Lou Hamer.
When I was 16, I read Ain’t I a Woman: Black Women and Feminism, and it opened up a whole new world for me. Although I had come from women who truly embodied feminism and womanism, I hadn't yet found the language or analytical framework to fully articulate my own experiences or those of Black women around me. bell hooks was the first to provide that clarity. I credit her with politicizing me and opening a gateway to other Black women writers, activists, scholars, organizers, seers, and visionaries who shaped my perspective, guided my activism, honed my politics, and expanded my spirituality. Her influence led me to dedicate my life to working in community and solidarity with other Black women to dismantle systems of oppression and build the worlds we want to see.
Part of my commitment to this community and world-building includes teaching a new class called Women, Writing, and Resistance for Literary Liberation. In this class, we’ll navigate these three resistances and use the works and blueprints left to us by Black women writers, scholars, activists, seers, visionaries, and revolutionaries as our north stars, guiding us toward new possibilities and ways of being.
There is a saying in the Tibetan scriptures: “Knowledge must be burned, hammered, and beaten like pure gold. Then one can wear it as an ornament.” For the woman, the writer, and the heart-centered warrior, the three resistances are, in many ways, gateways and portals for finding, accessing, forging, and alchemizing that knowledge into the gold that becomes our authentic voices, our immense power, and our liberated communities. When faced with courage, clarity, determination, and faith, resistance is anything but scary. It becomes generative, medicinal, restorative, and transformative.
Join us in September for Women, Writing, & Resistance at Literary Liberation as we use our writing and creative self-expression to create lives, relationships, communities, social systems, and worlds worthy of us.
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’s workshop, WOMEN, WRITING & RESISTANCE.ABOUT THE INSTRUCTOR
Natasha Elle Thomas is a writer, artist, policy advocate, educator, and healing practitioner whose work is grounded in social justice, embodied spirituality, and transformative change. Drawing from the wisdom traditions of her cultural and ancestral mothers and foremothers, she specializes in reclaiming, decolonizing, and preserving practices, rituals, and technologies that support spiritual healing and collective liberation.
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