Vulnerability Hour
It’s 9:57pm on a Saturday evening, and I’m sitting on my couch debating if I should even press “publish” on this post. I don’t have most social media anymore, but one of the messages that I would constantly see was that women who desired companionship were weak.
“There are so many things to do and you want to spend your time with a man?”
Personally I think it’s more nuanced than that. Before I continue I don’t want to dismiss the importance of a platonic community, especially mine. No, I do not go through this life in isolation. In fact, I’ve probably been around more people in the last year or two than I’ve been in the last 10.
And still at the end of the evening, I come home to an empty apartment, and the silence is deafening. I’ve written about my upbringing and how it had as affected my views on relationships and intimacy. I thought I had mostly healed from that until about 9:15am today. It’s my hope that my extreme vulnerability inspires someone to be honest with themselves and how they may be feeling; about this subject or any other.
I wasn’t supposed to be here today.”
I wasn’t supposed to be here today.
Alone.
At 32, I thought maybe I’d have another hand and heart intertwined with mine.
Maybe another body to come home to.
Maybe a few—okay, even just one—pair of tiny feet greeting me at the door, waving a painting from school like it’s a Picasso.
I wasn’t supposed to be here today.
They told me if I just followed God… and all the rules—oh, so many rules—
That I’d be rewarded.
With a tall, dark, and handsome man as my consolation prize.
Well… I’m still waiting on the other side of that door.
But now I wonder… does the door even exist?
You see, I didn’t grow up like other little girls.
No one told me I was pretty.
No one showed me how to braid my hair.
“God doesn’t like makeup,” they said. “And don’t wear red.”
Then I grew into these hips and thighs,
And they criticized that too.
“Who are you trying to impress?”
As if I asked for this body to be shaped like the soda y’all drink too much of.
That’s coke, by the way.
Then came the eyes.
So many eyes.
Lingering. Wandering.
And all I wanted to do was hide.
“Cover your body!” they said.
But why?
Why keep all of this… covered?
So I did.
I covered myself. With silence. With clothes. I hid the beauty that I grew into, or perhaps…I already had.
With eyes lowered to the ground—because that’s humility… right?
Still waiting.
Still hoping that door would open.
But not even a shake of the handle.
I’m doing everything “right,” right?
God?
Can you hear me?
It took me 32 years to realize…
The prize was never a man.
The prize… is me.
And if one should come and sweep me off my feet—sure, I’ll be swept.
But marriage is not a reward for good behavior.
And that tall, dark, and handsome fella?
He’s not the solution.
The light comes from within.
I see it now.
And I hope you see it too.
There’s so much life left to live.
Just keep breathing, baby girl.
I don’t think I have much of a formal cheery ending for this today, and I’m ok with that.
Until next time,
CDOG