Why Did My Strength Make Me More Vulnerable?
He called me a hard worker, he meant it as a compliment, but I have come to loathe this praise. It started as a virtue of mine, but has turned into a trap.
I am exhausted and depleted.
What has my hard work accomplished except to empty me?
I was the digger of my own grave, and was praised for it. My back broke in the hot summer sun, and he said to me “Good job!” as he supervised the effort. And I smiled at his approval.
I felt accomplished for an instant, then I felt depleted for an eternity.
Why Did My Beauty Make Me Feel Unseen?
He called me beautiful, but my radiance has faded because of him. All my pretty parts have been reduced and contorted- my appearance, my words, my values, my identity.
The light has drained from my eyes so that they now look like those of a dead fish at a market. Dead, yet on display for others’ consumption. Completely unable to see the beauty of herself and the world. And my worth having been reduced to the value I offer to others; simply existing to nourish them at my own expense, never to sustain myself.
Shouldn’t it feel good to be loved? To be chosen? To be seen?
Why don’t I want to stay firmly under his gaze as if it is a warm summer sun?
Instead, his gaze harms and irritates me. I am burned by it. Scarred.
Why Couldn’t I Hear the Loud, But Listened for the Soft?
He shouted that he loved me. But the force of those words didn’t penetrate my field of dissociation. Get as loud as you want, I’d think. I can’t hear you that way.
But I did hear him in other ways.
I listened for him. His footsteps, his voice, the sound of his escalating agitation.
As his internal disharmony rose in a crescendo, all the parts of me would scatter.
These soul fragments fled from him, withdrawing to dark corners where they could be hidden; forgotten.
The broken pieces abandoned the whole.
Maybe that is why I feel reduced.
Yet, I found freedom in neglect, comfort in disregard, and peace in oblivion.
If He is My Protector, Then Why Am I Scared?
As I hid from him, he praised himself for being my protector.
But I was the one who stowed those precious pieces in a safe place.
So if I was the guardian, then why is he called the protector?
Who was he protecting me from? And did he ever actually do so?
Why must I hide from my bodyguard?
Why did I need a shield from my shield?
If I Saved Myself, Why is He the Hero?
Here, I sat waiting for this twisted game of hide-and-seek to end. For the winner to be declared.
It feels like the world is against me. Like it is hell-bent to proclaim him the victor, and I the loser.
As this game continues, they call me difficult and sporadic, and they call him relentless and courageous for braving those dark corners to come find me.
He is the one to drag me unwillingly from my hole; he is the one to liberate me. My idol, my star, my savior.
The knight has rescued the princess.
This is how he positions himself to the admiring crowds.
They chant his name, while I stand silently off to the side.
But my silence holds no serenity. My hard work boasts no honor. My retreat is framed as shameful cowardice. My relentless endurance as laziness.
The Unseen Flower
My beauty is better off in isolation- like a flower that grows, blooms, and dies in obscurity. Is that sad, or is it freedom?
The parts of me that remain missing have taken root there.
The darkness nourished and protected them, but now they seek the light. They reach for the sunshine, delighting in its warm stare.
As they blossom in solitude, their beauty isn’t limited or contorted.
They are not plucked.
They grow as tall as they are able. Never suppressed.
Instead of choosing concealment, they pursue growth. Hide gives way to seek.
The murk has lifted in so many ways. Clarity has returned.
And here I am finally able to notice the beauty that had been lost for so long.
I look around and see flowers that I hadn’t noticed. All different colors and shapes. Tall, short, pointed, soft, violet, yellow, every color that the eye can perceive. All discarded in the same place. Alone, but together. All blooming on the same soil.
Here, there is no need for a protector. I do not fear the other flowers.
I simply delight in their beauty, growing together with them, fully in the light.
Messy Bun Book Lover