You see, this front of mine, this virtual armor, if you will, is something I've been building and wearing for years, and it used to be voluntary and intermittent, only applied when necessary. But I suppose after a while it became second nature, a permanent part of me, like a skin graft so undetectable that it was barely worth pointing out. Little did I know I was wearing it around like an obnoxious fur coat or bright red leather pants; this huge chip on my shoulder had become so obtuse and bulky that I was the only one I was fooling. I should have known that a true friend can always see through the armor.
Let's not rewind through time and get into why and how this persona I'd developed over the years came to be. Instead, let's focus on the fact that it was brought to light, it has been nurtured and fed entirely too long, and I don't want to enable it anymore. I don't want to keep adding chunks of metal onto this shield, becoming more and more hardened, increasingly impervious to whatever it is I'm attempting to protect myself from. No more "tough girl" for me. Not that it was ever intentional, not that it's how I wanted to be perceived, but there are times when people create characters, extensions of themselves, to distract from what's truly there, to defend against the elements and the harsh possibilities presented by a reality that they're scared to be a part of.
Metaphorically speaking, maybe I subconsciously thought that my shiny armor made me more captivating, attractive, or intriguing in some way. Maybe I gleaned some false sense of security from it, thinking that I had an advantage over anyone I encountered because I could see them in their natural state but I - I was a mystery. Maybe I didn't realize that my armor was only partial and that it didn't extend like chain mail down my arms and legs, so that people could still see the beating heart I wore on my sleeve. Truth is, I'm sick of carrying the shield around. It's heavy, it's dragging me down, and it's dulling my shine.
I don't want to live behind this wall anymore. I want to extend the same grace and kindness to everyone I meet. I want to allow myself to be open to the world and all the experiences it has to offer, even if that means allowing myself to be vulnerable, to accept the possibility of being hurt (as opposed to pretending that absolutely nothing can hurt me because I won't let anyone get that close), and throwing caution to the wind, leaping with my eyes closed. I want to give and to love freely, I want to remember what it feels like to be the kind of beautiful that only comes when you are truly and unapologetically yourself, without being tainted by the concern of others' perceptions or opinions. I want to love and give without assuming that someone is incapable of doing the same for me. I don't want to feed into preconceived notions based on fear and insecurity and past hurt. I want to forgive, let go, trust.
The following words and ideas aren't mine, and I'm sure they've been spoken many times throughout history, but I thought they were fitting for what I'm feeling:
- Change is a prerequisite to growth
- Change hurts
- Change humbles
- Change requires coming clean
- Change is illuminating
- Change can be facilitated by loss, grief, suffering, desperation
- Change is purifying
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