Not Just Another Day
We often find ourselves pretending, masking, and putting our best foot forward to be liked – loved even – in a world filled with others doing the same thing. Feelings of inadequacy drowning the whole world in conditional something. It isn’t love. If one fails to live up to unspoken expectations, the other moves on. Are we losing something that never should have been there in the first place? Relationships built on fear. Fear of them seeing us unattractive in the morning. Will they like the real you? Can they handle the baggage, the triggers, and wrinkles?
It's not even fear anymore. It’s terrifying to think of having my heart broken again. Is it me who breaks my heart for others or does the other person break my heart? The constant struggle of identifying those red flags and trying to read another person’s intent. Are they one of the good ones or are they just looking to use me to make their life easier, for a good time, or for sport – as if I’m another conquest. There is no easy way to tell if someone is a shark. All I know is that it is never a good idea to go swimming if you’re bleeding.
I have been the stalwart. I have been the constant. I have been the safety net in others’ pursuits of their dreams. I have taken arrows of false accusations, hatred for no reason, and projection of others' own shortcomings. Moving forward on my own, I had to stop and reevaluate who I am. I had to reground, heal, and grow my own strength.
We’re told to love the inner child. It’s also the inner child who has been told they aren’t good enough and the inner child who still plagues the present. The voice that continues to question. The voice that gave space in my life for others to walk all over me. My childhood helped shape me. If I find the wrong person, I am blamed for not having healed enough. I am blamed for not having read enough books, done enough shadow work, not waiting long enough…
As women, we're judged if we try to profile: if they’re too handsome, one might wonder if they’re a player. If someone looks put together, we’re a gold digger. Profiling a person is how we protect the heart. Is it wrong? That’s subjective. Some might be able to turn off their feelings, but I can’t. I was numb for too long putting years of effort into an unknown and I value truth over fables. The internal battle dreading the social expectations, fights, loss, heartache, but, largely, we're not solitary creatures.
I am a warrior without an army. I say that knowing I’m not the main character in anyone else’s story. I’m scarred by life, and while others have helped me along the way – even carried me for several miles while I was beaten and robbed by Crusaders – I am reemerging out of the ashes. I don’t live in the past, but it is a part of me. No one is able to delete heartaches or, like a suitcase, put down memories in a room and leave them there. My scars are from battles I’ve survived. The good Samaritans, my lifelong friends. I live to fight another day and it's comforting to know that is no such thing as living in the past.
That which is mysterious is interesting to me, but I don’t want to go into a cave and get bit by a poisonous snake when I’m looking for gemstones. At this point in my life, I know that I too am a gemstone but handled improperly – used improperly – will cut like a diamond. I also know that I’m not chum for sharks. I am not a conquest. In some respects, I’m indifferent, and in others, still too raw emotionally. Still too bruised by this year’s battles to be touched but aching to be held.
It's not even fear anymore. It’s terrifying to think of having my heart broken again. Is it me who breaks my heart for others or does the other person break my heart? The constant struggle of identifying those red flags and trying to read another person’s intent. Are they one of the good ones or are they just looking to use me to make their life easier, for a good time, or for sport – as if I’m another conquest. There is no easy way to tell if someone is a shark. All I know is that it is never a good idea to go swimming if you’re bleeding.
I have been the stalwart. I have been the constant. I have been the safety net in others’ pursuits of their dreams. I have taken arrows of false accusations, hatred for no reason, and projection of others' own shortcomings. Moving forward on my own, I had to stop and reevaluate who I am. I had to reground, heal, and grow my own strength.
We’re told to love the inner child. It’s also the inner child who has been told they aren’t good enough and the inner child who still plagues the present. The voice that continues to question. The voice that gave space in my life for others to walk all over me. My childhood helped shape me. If I find the wrong person, I am blamed for not having healed enough. I am blamed for not having read enough books, done enough shadow work, not waiting long enough…
As women, we're judged if we try to profile: if they’re too handsome, one might wonder if they’re a player. If someone looks put together, we’re a gold digger. Profiling a person is how we protect the heart. Is it wrong? That’s subjective. Some might be able to turn off their feelings, but I can’t. I was numb for too long putting years of effort into an unknown and I value truth over fables. The internal battle dreading the social expectations, fights, loss, heartache, but, largely, we're not solitary creatures.
I am a warrior without an army. I say that knowing I’m not the main character in anyone else’s story. I’m scarred by life, and while others have helped me along the way – even carried me for several miles while I was beaten and robbed by Crusaders – I am reemerging out of the ashes. I don’t live in the past, but it is a part of me. No one is able to delete heartaches or, like a suitcase, put down memories in a room and leave them there. My scars are from battles I’ve survived. The good Samaritans, my lifelong friends. I live to fight another day and it's comforting to know that is no such thing as living in the past.
That which is mysterious is interesting to me, but I don’t want to go into a cave and get bit by a poisonous snake when I’m looking for gemstones. At this point in my life, I know that I too am a gemstone but handled improperly – used improperly – will cut like a diamond. I also know that I’m not chum for sharks. I am not a conquest. In some respects, I’m indifferent, and in others, still too raw emotionally. Still too bruised by this year’s battles to be touched but aching to be held.
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