(NOTE: Inspired by a journal about past events, does NOT reflect the present.)
I worked hard to stop caring what others thought. Or to, at least, care much less. To be comfortable in my truths, in who I am, in my expression, in my voice. I fancied myself far down the road of progress, strong, resilient, solidly me. “Good job, me,” I’d say, patting myself on the back.
Then this.
And now I am questioning everything,
Now I am listening to every word I speak and wondering of their value,
Now I am replaying every eye flutter, every lip twitch, and deciding if it was good or bad.
Did I convey what I meant to convey?
Should I have even meant to convey it in the first place?
How am I sitting?
How am I speaking?
Am I too loud, too quiet?
Am I smiling too much, am I awkwardly still?
Am I incapable of being cool?
Am I kind of dorky or extremely dorky?
Why do I make so many hand gestures?
Are my experiences worthy?
Am I worthy?
Where did she go?
The grounded one with a bit of wisdom?
Where is she now?
The seeing queen with her sword of truth, here to set fire to the world?
Where is she now?
Goddess of light, gateway of souls, four-armed mother, dragon spirit?
She is nowhere to be found,
and in her place a little girl
who is not sure if she can be loved,
who is not sure if she deserves joy,
who stands in warm sunlight on a clear day
holding an umbrella,
waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I thought I loved this child and soothed her long ago.
I thought she knew she was worthy, and enough, and deserving of every good thing in this world.
I thought she was healed.
But here she is,
quiet and scared,
praying she is not alone.
And that is the gift of this brittleness,
that is the gift of the spiral that dances me back to the past.
I discover swirling patterns,
wounds that are crusted but raw.
I find this child
and have another chance to love her,
to tell her we are okay,
to tell her it is all going to be more than okay.
To invite her to lower her umbrella,
saying the sun is a gift,
and yes it sets, but it will always rise again,
And the moon and stars are just as beautiful,
and oh doesn’t nighttime smell so good?
To tell her I will hold her hand and
we will walk through this together,
however many times it takes.
