Stories, Photos, Faith…. Life as I see it

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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