Home business, home education and health challenges: what makes us tic?

The pain of compassion

Goldilocks

My darling.

Poor baby.

You feel so deeply

Comprehend so much …

and understand so little.

Why does it hurt?

Why do I care?

Why does no one else?

Ah, baby girl.

Your heart glistens in tear-stained shards on the carpet of my room

so beautiful

little stars twinkling in the grooves of synthetic pile

where we callously walk like it’s everyday

blind

deaf

Oblivious.

You feel the bitter sting of rejection,

the deep heartache of abandonment

so keenly, the pain could be your own.

And you and me, we lack the tools

to tease out the strands

of what is yours,

and what simply comes to you

with all that evanescent, excruciating

empathy.

I'm fine

We don’t always tell the truth

(I have a secret:

we all feel rejected

insecure

unworthy

alone

sometimes.

We don our masks

and paint our smiles

and say we’re fine.)

We’re not fine.

Not always.

 

If we could only bare our souls

as completely

as you do;

standing naked

and raw

in the truth of our personal darkness …

if we could all be so honest,

and look at one another

and say

 

“I see you.”

“I hear you.”

“I accept you.”

“I love you.”

“You are not alone.”

“You are worthy.”

Perhaps we could shine a ray of love into the darkness we share –

the darkness we hide so valiantly –

and let in the light.

Brave girl.

 

 

 

 

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