As a child, I used to throw tantrums. Not little ones either. I would scream, cry, kick, and make a ruckus. And let me tell you, tiny little legs can be a massive destructive power against the walls of a trailer. But that was the only way I could make people hear me. Blood pouring from my mouth, knees, or feet generally caused minimum interest. Asking for help fell on deaf ears. It feels like I am back there now.
When you calmly try to tell people that everything isn’t okay, they nod hopefully and offer advice. They mean well, but you can tell that they aren’t seeing the problem because you aren’t screaming it at the top of your lungs. If there isn’t blood, how could you be hurting? And, of course, if anyone else is involved in the issue, we have to give them consideration and time to be better. But what about the one who has been trying to be better all along? And is now being told to dig in some more and it might take a while?
The only conclusion I can reach is that the problem does indeed rest with me. How many times will I be told I am not worthy of respect and that I asked to be hurt because I bothered to wake up and breath? Do you really think it is helpful to cast blame on the person who is seeking to make it better?
I guess my option is to dig in and wait. Hopefully, while doing that I can protect others from letting part of themselves languish in limbo because someone else doesn’t want them to shine…
In the meantime, at least I have tiny koalas to remind me that I am important. They don’t shun me for trespasses that don’t exist enough to be voiced. They don’t turn their back on me because I express complicated human emotions. And they aren’t teenagers yet, so they still believe I know a couple of things.
Do you?
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