UN-Masking- Trusting the Process
It is a process
Becoming a woman. A respectable one.
One that knows just the right time to talk, the right things to say, the right way to say them
One that understands the importance of her place and knows not to explore the ironic freedom she has been bestowed
It is a process
One that starts from the moment she first took a breath
She was clothed in pink; an intentional introduction to the delicate being that she should be
Her hair was tied up in bows of colors; to show how radiant she should present herself
Her ears were pierced just to adorn them with pieces of jewelry- something extra to make her eyes shine brighter
It is a process
The one that molds her from a girl to a woman- an attempt to straighten her tomboyish ways
You should buy the heeled shoes darling and not the flats
You should leave your hair down you look better
You should not speak that way young lady
That is no way to act like a woman!
It is a process
One that had little respect for the individual being
One that screamed conformity as only acceptable option
One that did not understand that pink was too sheer to mask her imperfections and pains
One that further fueled the rebel inside of her
So she kicked
She cut her hair
She filled her life with those activities her aunts would frown at
She loved being the square peg in a round hole
She soon discovered a world that loved her just the way she seemed
She had the moves of a woman and the aura of a man- she was a perfect blend of both worlds
In control, In charge, Invaluable… Invulnerable
She had become the image she dreamt
But instead of sleeping like the boss she seemed, she began to yearn for pink pajamas
She desired to have some fresh air beneath the layers of perfection
She craved to feel- happiness, joy, excitement, enthusiasm even sadness and pain
She desired to be herself not a perfect blend
Just herself… the way her creator had carved her to be
So she searched through her pile blacks hoping to find the picture that portrayed her in her first moments
It was one that perfectly captured her mother cradling her in those pink clothes
She stared at the rectangular piece of paper and looked up at the bigger rectangular mirror
Looking back at her was a masked woman she could no longer recognize
Her attempt to beat the process had yielded this masquerade she knew she was not born to be
And for the first time she allowed herself to cry
Today she is on another process
It’s called UN-Masking
She is painfully tearing the layers of skin that are not hers off her face
She is freeing herself of the metal armor she often wears around
She is allowing the sunshine come through the windows to illuminate her world
She is learning the strength in truth and vulnerability
She is allowing his love melt the coldness of her heart
She is trusting this process of becoming!
Photo Credit: Google Images
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