Today I can’t seem to get rid of the weepiness behind my eyes. It’s there as I chop vegetables for supper, play fetch with the dog, brush my teeth, lay with my smallest child in bed. And the thing I find myself asking is: “why won’t I give myself permission to cry?”
And the words start to rise inside of me, one at a time, pushing to the surface as if they can’t keep the weight to themselves, any longer:
Fear.
Guilt.
Shame.
Three words that I know are deeply woven into my cells from a young age. Words that were intended to teach me trust, belief, hope, faith; but instead of helping me feel certainty about this life (and whatever comes next), they lead to a mistrust and losing of myself. No wonder my tears are locked up somewhere inside. I closed myself up as tight as possible to keep safe.
__
I remember as a little girl, my bedroom window looked out at the top of a church roof, where a lit up cross would sit. I would look out that window at night and stare as the glowing symbol and perhaps, sometimes feel peace, but mostly, I fervently prayed the “sinners” prayer, asking for forgiveness again and again, mostly for “the sins I didn’t even know I was committing.”
Oh, If I could go to that scared child calling out to the night sky, I would wrap her up in my arms, stroke her knotted brown hair and tell her: “You are safe and loved just as you are. I’m sorry this weight was given to you. I’m sorry that it will take years for you to learn to listen to and trust your heart. I’m sorry that fear, guilt, and shame have settled already so deep into your bones. You are good. Nothing will take that away from you. And you are free to wildly express yourself just as you are.”
__
And then, the tears break right through the dam trauma built, and there I am: embraced by her. By this child-self longing for validation and my own slowly healing heart. And in this moment, I have never felt closer to God.
I try so hard
to keep these tears
neatly bottled
behind my eyes
only lately
I can’t help but
leak a little
throughout the day
and I wonder
when did I become
so soft
why did I fight
it for so long
and can’t we let
the shame melt
right off our bodies
as we learn
it is good
and right
to cry.
// childhood validation
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