The Vulnerable Me

I woke up in the dead of night and saw someone cry,

She was sitting in the corner of my room; wearing my favorite dress

Who was she? I went close to have a look.

Oh my goodness! she was me; the younger me. My sixteen-year-old self.

I felt sorry for her. 

I knew how it felt to be crying like that

I held her hand, caressed it, saying sorry at each stroke. 

Sorry for not loving her when she was young. 

Sorry for not taking care of her. 

For not giving her the inner strength when she needed it the most. 

For holding her back each time she chose to talk.

How I stopped her from expressing her feelings. 

How I held her from freely crying;

And I know she became vulnerable. Because I stopped her from all expressions.

But she was a fighter, she fought every circumstance. But something broke her each time she struggled to stand.

I didn’t allow her to make friends, because I hated fun- I hated bullying. 

I was terrified she will be teased.

I did not allow her to fall in love. Caring hands reached her but I stopped them. 

She did not deserve that love, I felt.

I hated her. I adored her but I did not allow her the freedom she deserved.

I did not allow her to make mistakes. She had to be flawless, I believed.

She had to succumb to everyone she encountered.

Because I loved everyone else and not her. 

Maybe I was a people pleaser. 

And in doing so I hurt her the most.

Those unhealed scars are hurting me now. 

The people who I pleased left. My younger self also left but the scars have survived.

My sixteen-year-old self…I am sorry. 

I did not care for you but I was helpless. I was scared.

You taught me a lot

You showed me the light and today, I can help someone vulnerable see that light. 

And show that it is important to embrace oneself and be fearless.

That they are a special gift of the divine on this planet.

Image: Kasia Unsplash