Faye – The Wounded Wise Woman
“I’ve been running from my truth for decades. I think I’m done now.”
“She knows what others need. Now she’s learning to ask for what she needs, too.”
Faye feels things deeply, too deeply, she’s been told. Her empathy is a superpower and a wound. She’s the one friends call for soulful advice, but her own truth lies buried under years of emotional caretaking and silent suffering. Her traumas (both little “t” and big “T”) are uncovered and unconfronted. Now, she’s unraveling in private. She’s anxious, exhausted, and desperate for a healing that goes deeper than affirmations.
You Might Be Faye If...
You’re the person everyone else turns to when they have a crisis, but you have no one to lean on
You’ve started to realize that your emotional intelligence has become a mask
You feel like you’ve held your breath your whole life
You can’t remember a time when you weren’t slightly anxious, slightly tired, slightly hiding
You’re smart, spiritual, insightful
You suspect your body knows truths you haven’t let your mind admit
Her Inner Conflict
"I’m fine.”
Faye says it out loud, automatically. She always says it.
She smiles at the barista, sends a kind text to a struggling friend, and adds another meditation book to her bedside stack.
But underneath the surface, something is fraying. Her chest hurts. Her mind races like a wind-up toy. Her brain presents her with frustrating half-memories, slammed doors, invisible wounds, and unspoken rules she didn’t know to follow.
"I should be grateful. I’m strong. I’ve done the work."
But she hasn’t done the work. Not really. She’s danced around the core pain, intellectualized and spiritualized it. But she hasn’t felt it. Not fully. Not safely.
She runs her fingers along the spine of her journal, then closes it without writing.
"What if the healing I need requires breaking first?"
Her Secret Longing
Faye wants to be held. Not fixed, not analyzed. Just held.
She wants to stop performing resilience.
She wants to tell the truth—messy, raw, unfiltered—and still be loved.
The Loop She's Stuck In
Faye keeps helping others instead of helping herself.
She intellectualizes her emotions instead of feeling them.
She reads the books, says the mantras, drinks the tea, and avoids the grief.
She’s mastered survival. What she hasn’t mastered is softness.
Call to Adventure
One evening, Faye is slicing tomatoes for the salad when the knife slips and sinks deep into her thumb.
The emergency room is in chaos; the bleeding is making her feel dizzy. A nurse finally moves them into a curtained alcove and asks Faye if she’s okay.
Something inside her breaks open and the tears burst forth like through a crack in a damn. She’s not crying about her finger.
Her husband moves to the gurney and wraps his arm around her shoulder. She needs a doctor, more than one kind.
She says a sentence aloud and feels its truth for the first time.
“I’m not okay. And I’m allowed to say that.”
It’s not a breakdown. It’s a reckoning.
What She’s Learning
Faye is learning that wisdom isn’t found in bypassing pain but in being brave enough to face it.
She’s discovering that softness doesn’t mean weakness.
She’s learning to mother herself, hold space for herself, and (finally) heal.
Choose Faye as Your Heroine Companion
Want Faye by your side on your next Pocket or Adventure Quest? Choose her when your journey is about breaking patterns, feeling what’s been buried, and letting your vulnerability become your greatest strength.
She’s not here to tidy up your pain.
She’s here to say, “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”