The Me I Started Out As
I’ve spent a good part of my life dis-membering myself. Hiding pieces that didn’t fit in a dark closet. Rank and fetid without air and light, I grew to hate them even more. Trust them even less. I was determined they should die there.
One morning I awoke, and remembered who I am. The me I started out as, and smiled at her. Bright and beautiful, she smiled back at me, and all the years of anguish melted in that mirroring. My parents couldn’t mirror me. I thought it my my cloudy disposition. My splintery personality. My lack of wholeness. I gave up looking, steered clear of mirrors. Found shadow soothing and grew comfortable in darkness.
Yet my soul longed for light, like a dolphin in the desert ~ I knew I could never be whole or happy or free. The darkness would not heal me. I had to trade comfort for connection. I had to drag the festering pieces from the closet and tend to them as wounds. Repulsed by the task, I tried to turn away, but kept holding them to the light, and watched in astonishment as they began to heal (ugliness transformed is lovelier than any pristine placidness).
The me I started out as has sad moments, but mostly she is satisfied. She understands grace and glory require surrender, patience, sacrifice, but she’d do it all again for that one sweet smile of recognition. That one shining moment of at-one-ment.
LBM 6/15/17
