When We Believed in Mermaids

by Barbara O'Neal

demurely

Very cutesy. Very respectful. 🎀

It startles me that there was so much freedom of story, of power in women’s hands, such a long time ago. For the space of a few breaths, I wonder how life would be different for women if those stories had been allowed, embraced. Even celebrated.

I realize I’m freaking out a little over a situation I can’t control. Shocking. I take a breath and let it go.

Relatable 🥹

but it’s a small kindness, and I don’t have to push it away.

I bloomed in her presence. I’m blooming now.

“There are seasons of darkness, yes? Loss and sadness all around.” He tightens his grip. “But if you are patient, the circle turns, and then there is happiness all around, everything good, everyone happy.” He flings a hand out, palm up, as if scattering glitter. “My friend, he just forgot that happiness is part of living too.”

A girl without a mother who protects her is a girl at the mercy of the world.

Every girl needs a mother who protects her with a savage fury.

Regret asks for amends, and I wish I could offer them.

I’ve never been particularly brave. Or good. Or wise. Or forgiving.

I’ve also transformed myself from a lost, drunken wanderer into a woman with purpose, a successful businessperson. I escaped. Escaped

quietly, and slides a finger up my shin. “Sometimes love creates.”

But it’s not about comparison, as my counselor used to say. My pain is my pain.

Sleep is my superpower.

“In Spanish, we say alma gemela. Soul twin.”

“Perhaps,” he says gently, “it is time to stop thinking and feel.”

“Your quest is powerful. You needn’t apologize for the space it takes.” He covers the hand he’s holding with his other. “That you take. You are important too. Not only your sister.”

Sooner or later, you have to face things, face your life. Here is my reckoning.

The human body is a delicate, amazing creation. It takes almost nothing to completely destroy it, and yet it takes a lot. Most of us manage to stay on the planet, in our bodies, for seventy or eighty years, all of us amassing scars along the way, each one with a story.

I am alive. I am human. I am loved.