I sat on the porch, mind reeling with self-doubt.
Feeling burdened by looming tasks that feel impossible to tackle,
and the men who have made me feel less than valuable.
Growing exhausted with a world in which men see women as nothing more then their skin and bones.
Feeling tired of wanting someone to just ask me who I am and really listen to the answer.
Wanting more for myself then the shallow interactions I’ve had lately.
I sat there, heart aching, and holding in tears.
I faked a few laughs and tried to focus on the crisp air on my skin.
I choked on my own sadness and quickly wiped away the occasional tear.
I like to keep myself contained,
and pride myself on not making others feel burdened in my presence.
The truth is,
I can authentically be happy and pleasant and kind 90% of the time.
The problem comes when I find myself sitting in a room full of dear ones.
People whose souls I’ve seen and I’ve loved.
People who know me better then most and yet I feel alone.
I can be so self-contained and driven by my concern for how others feel that I am left to fend for myself emotionally.
In a way that I’d never ask someone else to do.
In a way that is often heart-breaking.
Perhaps my greatest fear is less about not being perfect.
It’s more about being so gloriously flawed and no one even knowing.
It’s about feeling like I could burst into tears at any moment,
but, holding them in for the sake of everyone around me.
It’s about leaving the room so no one sees the depth of emotion that I hold inside.
It’s about living a life so open to the pain of others and so closed off to my own.
Perhaps my greatest fear is being known by many but truly known by none.