Finding Me

by Viola Davis

He loved me. That I know. But his love and his demons were fighting for space within, and sometimes the demons won.

The adoration is as powerful as that curtain was in The Wizard of Oz. It hid a lie that gave me temporary asylum. That’s what winning was . . . an instant protection and smoke screen to hide the fact that I was simply scared all the time. I felt like an “outsider” all the time.

In my child’s mind, I was the problem. I would retreat to the bathroom, put something against the door so no one would come in, and I’d sit for an inordinate amount of time staring at my fingers and hands and try to erase everything in my mind. I wished I could elevate out of my body. Leave it.

There were continual battles. After every one of them there was a looming reality. How will we overcome this one? The only hope was that these ever-present battles would be little traumas, not a big trauma.

But even some of the mightiest of warriors have wounds that leave them debilitated.

There was an expectation of perfectionism without the knowledge of emotional well-being.

amazingggggg

“I ain’t never found no place for me to fit. Seem like all I do is start over. It ain’t nothing to find no starting place in the world. You just start from where you find yourself.” —AUGUST WILSON

Suddenly, my stories of hardships seemed small, an awareness I felt God was orchestrating. I wanted my story to be small. I wanted it to shrink like a tumor down to a manageable size.

Jeff Kenyon. You could call Upward Bound counselors by their first name. You could call Jeff in the middle of the day and say, “Hey Jeff! I’m having an anxiety attack and I’m in the middle of science class. Can you help me out?” and he would be there. He was always there. He was the first person who took me and my sister Deloris to a political party gathering so that we understood what political campaigning was all about. He was the first person to take us to the Rhode Island Black Heritage Society so we could learn about abolitionist ex-slaves who could read and write and were instrumental in freeing others from bondage. As white as he was, Jeff taught us a lot about Black history. He heard me and my sister talk one day in his car and picked up on our ignorance about our own history. That was it. That was all the impetus he needed to spring into action. He would pick us up in the middle of the week, take us to get some food, talk to us to see how we were doing.

Lose and bury the very essence of what makes you you and create something void of joy but steeped in technique.

what if you didn’t change all the parts of yourself that you are not happy with? What if you just stayed, you? Could you be happy with that? Could you still love yourself?”

I got tired of walking and taking buses and the loneliness and nomadic lifestyle. I just wanted to find home. Not find a home but find home. A safe place sanctuary that was peaceful, nurturing, reliable . . . and filled with love.

I’d been taught how to run from the world. I’d been taught how to hide and fight. I hadn’t been taught how to love and be still.

Aibileen was food insecure.

using me to be a leader in the area where I very much felt a victim.