To Be Seen

Truly, in getting to know others we get to know ourselves.

As we reveal our stories and peel back the layers of who we are, exposing ourselves to another by virtue of comparison or contrast, I ask myself “Why did I share that?”

We all have our battle scars.
Some of us have purple hearts;
heroes wounded in this warfare we call life.
“You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine”.
 It seems silly, but don’t we all do this dance?
This waltz where we compare wounds, dipping and spinning each other through our past?

I don’t know.
Perhaps I am less private than others.
Perhaps I feel I have much to explain; like there is much to be apologetic for. “Why did I share that?”
As I move forward with my life I try to visualize the woman I want to become.
I've made so many mistakes, and I don’t want to run from them.
I am just now, at 36, beginning to be able to look in the mirror and like what I see … flaws and all.

I think it can be said – I’m hard on myself.
I think it should be said – I forgive myself …
and forgiveness requires honesty.

So as I peel back the layers of my life, recounting stories that seem aren’t even mine, brandishing my soldier stripes, I begin to find these days that all I have to say is not to legitimize my strength defined by my struggle.

We ALL survive.
It doesn't seem a particular triumph to simply say YOU ARE HERE.
Broken, we begin to love our scars because we feel like they define us.
We feel like they are proof of our resilience; brilliance in the bitterness.

If we are byproducts of our pain, who would we be if we could take it all away? If this is how we are programmed to validate, do we inevitably create more chaos simply in order to overcome it?

I still want to be triumphant.
I’m simply no longer interested in warfare. Especially not the kind I create for myself.

I doubt the intentions of my transparency.
I have habits that scare me … over exposure is one of them.

I fade like a photograph forgotten in the sun.
wondering what I am without the brilliant color of my own pain to define me as “someone” –

“Why did I share that?” I continue to ask.

My soul cried -
Please just see me for who I am.