I see her walking alone. Her head drooped low. Her back is laden down with a hundred burdens. We are walking the same way, but our footsteps are spread apart. I feel the sunshine on my face–a time of joy for me. But her hair is wet with sorrow–a time of pain for her.
My footsteps slow. I know that our proximity is no mistake. I approach her slowly, the trail of tears making heavy indentation on the ground. I could remember a time I felt the same.
My mind is transported to the darkness that was—after many years–overcome by light. I gather the stinging, yet hopeful memories to my heart and stand beside her with a gift of companionship. I am ready to offer.
She looks at me with hollow eyes, and yet the depth of tragedy is deep. But I have hope and I know hope is in her. It just needs a way out. I reach for her hand and she doesn’t reject me. It is cold with stiff pain. I can remember the feeling. Continue reading “The Girl with the Hollow Eyes”
There is this legend in society about the strong girl who smiles for everyone else, but is breaking inside. It’s adhered as the kind of girl you would want to be….strong for everyone else, broken inside, but so brave for living on.
This is downright ridiculous. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be the girl that is brave on the outside, but breaking on the inside. I don’t want to be the girl with fake smiles for the world and only tears leftover. I don’t want to be this legendary girl that is so strong that she’s breaking!
We’ve made hiding behind fake smiles a brave thing to do, but it’s actually not. It’s destructive, and it’s not worth it. It is not your job to be strong for everyone else. It is not your place to be the girl who never breaks down. Continue reading “It’s OK to Break Down”
It is the primary identification. You are the lonely woman. It is the foremost cry. You are the lonely woman. It is the pent-up scream. You are the lonely woman.
This is the darkest place, you think. It has to be the worst. How can you possibly move from here? What can heal these wounds? These wounds that re-open every day.
And no one suffers in the way you do. You know that there is suffering. And you know that others do too. But you can only feel what is yours. It is real. It is suffering. It is the worst kind of suffering.
You are the lonely woman. And you keep it all inside, because no one could possibly love you, need you, want you, know you. No words could possibly fill up this hollow space. The hollow space you’ve become.
Nothing. Forever nothing.
You are the lonely woman.
Your cracked hands clench to fists, the wounds widening as the fingers tighten. This is suffering. This is the worst kind of suffering. It is small suffering. It is invisible suffering. Continue reading “You Are the Lonely Woman”