The Most Famous Woman On The Planet

I made the choice. He accepted it. And yet—

"The woman you put here with me” — that’s what he called me.

That’s all I was to him. 

Not his. Not his to defend. Not his to stand behind. Not even his to understand.

Just a woman — some ‘thing’ — put in here with him. 

A blemish to his paradise.

When we were called to account for a choice made side by side, together — his words made our disconnect so very clear.

And I know what I said next. We all do. It’s carved into the best-selling book of all time… I said it was the serpent who deceived me.

Those words will mock me until the end of time. As if I am the idiot for believing a slimy snake. 

But all the children of the world only see the serpent as slimy — because of me, because of my story.

He was shiny, not slimy. Gleaming. An angel of great wisdom and curiosity.

I saw wit and intelligence behind the fire in his eyes.

Ancient and warm like a dragon.

Calm and cool like a chill breeze.

And of course, he asked me a question.

Do you think Adam ever once asked me a question?

Even just one?

No. Never.

But this wild, calming, dragon-like figure with fire in his eyes and a wisdom I could not yet fathom in his scales— he asked me a question. 

He brought me another perspective.

I and all my daughters are perpetual seekers of new perspectives — the empaths, the nurturers — we provide warmth to our kin and to the world.

And yet, who brought warmth to me?

Certainly not the man who named every creature as if the world were his alone.

Adam was content. Ignorant and proud, but content. It is doubtful that he would’ve asked for more without me there.

But remember, I am from him. 


Not from his rib, God no. That is a gross mistranslation from the longest 'game of telephone' in the world.

I came from the side, from half of the all-encompassing human that existed before.

I was half of the original whole. My side had the heart, the longing. I was the holder.

And what is humanity without that?

Of course that tree had my attention. What kind of paradise has such an attractive unknown looming presence in your space, asking you to just ignore it? ...Forever?

"Pretend it doesn’t exist."

Tell yourself “it’s not there."

I ignored it for eons.

No one ever acknowledges how much time I did spend enduring the uncertainty… because the passage of time never gets denoted. But it was its own eternity. 

What kind of paradise taunts and torments?

That is no paradise.

I craved understanding, clarity.

Connection.

Something real.

God made us in his image, did he not?

And wasn’t the promise of that tree that it would make us see the world as God sees?

So why…? Why create us in God’s image but keep us blind?

To the naive, wisdom looks like the answer to everything. Every question. Even questions I hadn’t thought to ask yet, but had in me, somewhere.

And there is no wisdom in regretting what made one wise.

I believe — same as my children, who later put it into writing — that God is faithful, that God would not let me be tempted beyond what I could bear. 

And I was right.

All of humanity was awakened.

And I finally saw how separate Adam and I had always been.

We were once whole but not anymore.

I was a part made separate. Ignored.

Ignore a part of yourself long enough, and it begins to feel like something “other.” Something foreign.

I cannot blame him. He saw me as “the woman you put here with me” because it was easier than seeing the emptiness in himself. It was my side that had the drive, the audacity, the courage, and the desire for a full identity.

I might have said the serpent deceived me, but I was wrong. 

The serpent told me the truth I was not yet ready to hear. 

It is both the serpent and the truth that became an enemy of mankind that day.

Much of my children still fear it — the truth.  They call it evil. They cast it out, pretend it’s separate from them.

I get it. I was scared of it at first too — scared of its rawness, its bareness.

To say we “realized we were naked” is to utterly fail at capturing what we felt. We realized we were vulnerable. Fleshy halves of a whole that could never be whole again.

The separation was visceral. Tactile.

But it had always been there. I felt it from my beginning, even before I was ripped from our side. Separation from our Creator. The awareness of it must have stayed with me once I was formed.

I just hadn’t known what to call it. 

It was this subtle, silent error code, beneath my blanket of ignorance.

I couldn’t name it — until I ate from the tree.

Then, I finally had the word for it.

Compartmentalization.

We were God’s first great experiment in compartmentalization.

As if “good” could exist without “bad.” As if “good” is some fixed thing, not inherently defined by its shadow in contrast.

Ignorance is not bliss. It’s silence. It’s darkness.

There is no light without shadow.

No rhythmic beat without a matching rhythmic silence.

There was no music in the Garden of Eden. No creation. No love.

Mine is the most famous story in all of history — and yet, no one understands it. Not my side of it. They think I fell to temptation? That I dragged man out of paradise?

Then, let me ask you — my children. What choice would you make?

Between the authentic and vulnerable pursuit for a true connection with God vs staying separate, choosing obedience, and remaining hollow in a paradise fantasy?

We were made in God’s image and I sought to embrace all I was made to hold.

My children speak of hell — but there’s no torment like living in a world that denies your God-given self.

Dear children, I am not the fall. I am the beginning.

It is not enough to “avoid evil.”

Evil is just that which has become separate and “other” from us.

You cannot banish it or disguise it — you must face it.

It is part of what once made us whole.

Facing it is our only path to wholeness again.

We were not cast out of paradise. We were cast out of a garden used for God’s experiment in coddling his creation with lies.

Lies don’t heal us.

They delude us. Separate us.

We were supposed to have “every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it.”  No exclusions. No forbidden thing...  

We were told we would die the day we ate from the tree (a fact often lost in translation). And we didn’t. We died centuries later.

And our death was not because we ate from the tree of knowledge — it was because we were denied the tree of life.

God thought he must lie to us to protect us. And I proved him wrong.

Because of me, God realized that separating us denied a core part of God’s image — connection.

So he gave us the power to pursue that connection. With the tree of life, we would’ve had no urgency, no capacity to remedy our separation. God cut us off from eternal life to create the need to pursue connection and return to our wholeness with God. 

God set us out into the world to experience and process and integrate and heal. 

I am the first woman. The first great experiment in healing. 

As such, I know that it does not work to ignore the pain, to hide it in your periphery. You cannot chase ease and bliss without stripping yourself of everything that makes you you. 

That’s not closeness to God. It’s exile.

God thought he could create a perfect haven and hide “evil” and our knowledge of it in a forbidden tree. Compartmentalize it.

Because of me, God learned that would not work, that creation was not yet done. And so, he tasked me with what was left of it.

Even beneath the supposed curse, “he will rule over you," God still gave me the most courageous act of creation — childbirth. The lineage begins with me. I am the mother to all.

What a gift God gave me in his anger. Heavy and dangerous. But a gift, nonetheless.

He knew I could bear the pain— because I already had.

I chose the knowledge.

I chose the taste over the numb.

And I would choose it again.

It is only in healing that we find our path to God.

My one regret is calling the serpent’s truth deception, perpetuating the confusion.

Truth alarms us at first.

But those words — they transcended more than my voice ever did.

Hence, my warning for my children.

Your voice matters. Use it with care.

Let it rise from your full self, not your scared self. Connect. Integrate. Choose truth. Choose what’s real.

There is no good or bad — only real or fantasy.

I am the most famous woman on the planet. Every generation knows of me.

And yet, I am the most unknown woman on the planet. The most misunderstood.

I am forever cloned in the imaginations of every human being that walks this earth. 

Twisted and shaped out of fear and shame. Forever fantasized and fictionalized to justify the next act of misogyny.

But never truly seen for what I was. What I did.

As if I never existed at all.

But I did exist. I took the first step; I carved the path to healing.

Now it’s yours to walk.