Zandashé L’orelia BrownI dream of never being called resilient again.
I want support.
I want softness.
I want ease.I want to be amongst kin, not patted in the back for how well I take a hit.
So many of the closest to me define me as a forever survivor. A warrior. Someone they’re “not worried about”. Someone who can be dropped off at the North Pole and comes back as the pack leader. Strong. Tough. Resilient. Independent. Fierce.
I had to be because most of my life it was on me to keep going, get up, push through, or to take u-turns from the dark thoughts of checking out forever. I don’t remember a time between age 12-27 when dy*ng wasn’t in the back of my mind. It only makes you stronger, but also a lot lonelier.
Even when surrounded by people who cared, I could never trust fall, because nobody caught me. Either because I was a nuisance, or they had no tools to do so no matter how hard they tried, or they took the trust as an invitation to turn it into abuse.
Nobody tells you that the life of a warrior isn’t just about fighting, surviving, and recovering, but building thick walls around your heart and soul. Only by healing both with love from ourselves can we be liberated.
I’m getting better at it these days, but oh, to be soft. To be trusting. To be held tight. To be seen. To be safe.
One day.
