Most people don’t know the real me. I hide her away because she’s easily bruised and broken. She’s tender in a tough world. I have been blessed, or cursed, with eyes that see the world a little differently than most. I see deeply and I feel things deeper. With these eyes that see things deeper than face value, I sometimes see that the world isn’t as comforting and loving as it should be.
Once you’ve seen things for what they are, it’s hard to ever step back from that and see them as the facade they once were. Some people call it judgmental. But the reality is that when you are tender in a tough world and you’ve been fooled, you lose the ability to accept bullshit. And, as an unfortunate byproduct, you also assume most of what you see and hear is, in fact, more bullshit.
I’ve learned that friends aren’t always who they say they are. Family doesn’t always have your back like they should. Coworkers see only a fraction of who you are and assume they know what you’re about. Strangers make assumptions about your “type of person” based on facial expressions or body language. We categorize people based on our past experiences because we want to protect our fragile souls.
For me, this is a lonely, lonely place. I want to be more outgoing but then I think of the people who’ve hurt me along the way and I say never mind. I wish there was a reset button to take away the impression of this world as a cruel place. I would love to be able to see the facade and not the underbelly.
But in a short span of time, I’ve allowed some of the cruel people in this world to be the voice I hear the most in my head. I am hungry for acceptance and understanding even though I am guilty of not giving that to others. I want to shift the narrative to one that tells me all the good things that people think, yet never speak, about me. For being tender in a tough world often means that the voice you hear the most is the one of your harshest critic. If this holds true for me, then I know I’m not alone. Others want to hear that same, simple goodness that replenishes the bank of self esteem. What we often cannot see in ourselves, others can’t either.
I wish that I could move the hands on the clock of time to a day in the past when my heart was less damaged and my brain more willing to trust. But that would only be half of the equation. How would I use the knowledge that things aren’t always as they seem and still allow myself to embrace the compassion I so desperately want for myself, and apply it to others? What would I do differently to protect my fragile little spirit yet still give others more grace? We are all just struggling humans with different battles, different abilities, and different ways of coping. I believe it is an innate human desire to have others believe the best in us and believe that our intentions are pure.
I know my brain rationalizes the labels I assign to both myself and others. My biggest desire in life is to make a difference in people’s lives for the better. I don’t want people to take one snippet of the entire camera roll of my life and damn it to hell because of something I said that, to them, defined my entire character. Character is deep and moments of imperfection shouldn’t be the overall defining story of my life. And it shouldn’t be the story that I assign to others.
Perfection is not attainable. There will always be things that we can do better. Every day is a new opportunity to strive to improve. Some days, I really suck at that. Try as I may, I can see my errors snowballing into a huge avalanche. In my moments of chaos and despair, I want so badly for people to see the good in me. I beg, silently, for others to recognize the values despite the flaws. In this, I realize that being tender in a tough world shouldn’t make me tough and my heart impenetrable. Perhaps the magic that weaves the fabric of our lives is the grace that we show to those who’ve wronged us, to those who struggle with imperfection, and to those who we deem least deserving.
Tonight, I struggle with a warring heart and mind. I see the ugliness in people and I don’t understand the motivation. How can I ever learn to trust them again? But would I not want the same grace, the same chance at showing someone that I am better than they think? Sometimes what we see at face value is only a fraction of the person underneath. Being tender in a tough world shouldn’t make me callous. It should make me gracious yet cautious. Tenderness in a tough world is a blessing that others may need. And perhaps it would be contagious.
Messpot Diaries 