Yes... But Also No
Her prompt was... "What would someone say about you in a monologue about why you say yes or why you say no."
Truth... I don't think anyone knows me enough to do a monologue about why I say no or understand why I say yes.
Looking at my life I have made a lot of confusing and to some, even suspicious, choices and decisions. Choices, I am aware, that don’t seem to make sense to the naked eye. To the normal mind or the rational thought. But all things I have known or felt or been compelled to do. Those are the times I have said yes. The times most probably wouldn’t have.
Then there is a flip side. A side of me that will quickly, almost automatically, say no.
When things seem too dangerous. And by dangerous, I mean vulnerable. When things are too far out of my control. When I’m open too much to rejection or abandonment. When someone could tap that center of my heart or being and has the ability to emotional mutilate me in their leaving. No matter how much I feel for them. How much I am infatuated or keen, I will keep my distance. I will never open up or share with these souls. Like an animal I can sense the danger and never risk the potential of how much they could devastate me. I am too scared.
Not until I’m ready. Until I have talked myself into taking the risk. Until I have made the conscious decision to break the pattern. Until I have adjusted to walking through the fear. Prepared my heart, body and soul to the bravery it really takes for me to get there.
Skipping all unpredictability, chance, threat or danger. Also, at times, risking great love, great moments, the stuff stories are made of.
Few people have waited that long for me to get there. Of course they have. Who would linger when getting nothing in return. When reality is, my heart and soul wants to give it all, but can’t yet. Isn’t quite ready. Is petrified. To the point of paralyzation.
Very few people have waited.
And that’s understandable.
It’s also probably one of the reasons I write. So I can expose part of my inner self. I do so with the page in a way I have prepared myself. I have seen and felt the benefits of sharing. Those who aren’t interested in my story or my voice, can turn the page. Flip it without me ever knowing. Without feeling the dagger of rejection. Without feeling the familiarity of abandonment.
Protected while wide open. What a freedom there is in that. How grateful I am to have this outlet, with this community, led by such safe warriors as Ann Randolph, Joshua Townshend and Adam Lesser.
I know a lot has happened in my life. I know I have been effected and wounded. I have been left difficult to relate to. I have been sliced and bled. But I also see how far I have come. How repeatedly I have tapped the shell I buried myself in. How it has cracked and exposed a piece of me. Little by little. Time after time. I have cracked it enough to let the light in and see I have survived. I see the trust in both community and myself I have built. I have prepared myself to whole heartedly expose myself to the page. In doing so, I have also let the light out, by sharing my story.
I have said yes to writing what I always said no to speak.
Hopefully allowing some people in the process to see part of me I would other wise never expose.
Hopefully allowing people to see parts of me that may seem confusing, even suspicious to some. Hopefully making some of those choices I have made understandable. Dare I even say relatable. I have learned to understand myself. And that alone is priceless.
So, I continue to say yes to admitting as much as I can. The more I say yes, the less I say no. The less I say no, the more my shell cracks and lets both the light and air in. The more light and air, these slices get a chance to mend. The more I mend, I eventually heal. With a scar to remember it all happened. In that scar that people see, there is a story to tell. A story I get to write. I get to share with the page... and anyone who wants to read it.