The neighbor’s baby is crying. It’s Thursday night, I’ve just had dinner, and now it’s time to do some sharing.
I keep a drawer in my room filled with special things. Some things stay in the drawer and some things leave the drawer, like a rotation. There’s an alligator chew toy I’m saving for my dog Bailey I’m receiving from my Aunt Shelly next month. There’s birthday presents for Justin. A heart-shaped box I got for our first Valentine’s Day together–of course it was full of candy, then. A slip I plan to wear on our wedding night. A post it note from my dad that says “I love you-Dad”.
A not-so-physical drawer known as the drawer in my heart is filled with icky things. Fear that no one could ever love me. Fear of never knowing what it is that I want. Fear of speaking and being spoken over. Breaking up and getting back together again, for the rest of our lives until our heads spin off and we jump off mental cliffs that no one ever knows we jumped off of. But we know.
Which drawer contains more in it?
My sister posted this article on Facebook the other night and it was about the things women do when no one is around to judge them. You care what people think when you sleep with no shirt on. Or eat with no shirt on. Or eat where you sleep, with no shirt on. You care about who knows they make you feel insignificant. You care about saying I love you and then stuffing the cat back in the bag later, because saying it, somehow makes it untrue. You care who sees you watch Girls on HBO and you care who sees you ugly.
It can be so hard to just be.
I build up walls to protect myself from being hurt by others. But I think I hurt myself more than anyone else ever could. I build up walls so I don’t have to face the truth. That knowing what I want scares me, and walking down a path I don’t know I’ll succeed on scares me even more.
I’m afraid of change.