The Truth of What You Read

I don't want to be the woman who writes for the unseen audience. Trying too hard to gain readers by writing what she thinks they'd like to read, rather than writing what she knows she needs to. The kind who counts her success by the number of comments left on her blog. And while I want and welcome your comments, I remind myself that first and foremost I'm here to write for me.

Because it is for me that I write. In every way imaginable this is how I nurture, heal, forgive, celebrate and love myself into full being. And more often than not, I don't always get things right on the first try. And sometimes my second try isn't much better. But I do always try again.

I used to say that I was born a fighter, but the truth is I was born with a lover's heart, as are most of us. And it's only with time and many a lesson learned that we begin to identify more so with the image of a perpetual boxer dancing in circles around the ring than a free and open heart dancing with joy in a field overrun with flowers.

Women especially have learned that trust is a commodity they can no longer afford to give. They have been breached, they have been shunned, they have been put down, kicked out, walked on, disappointed time and time again, and taken for all they're worth and for granted as well.

And men have suffered too from this breakdown of the spirit. They have tried and they have failed, they have given in and given up, they measure themselves against a perfection that does not exist and refuse the simplest of all things to receive when they don't feel they're up to snuff.

And so we continue to build walls where hands once reached to stretch across the boundaries. A few bad apples and we're ready to condemn the whole human race, or at least every member of the opposite sex.

And I would not say that I am any different. A few bad apples of my own and I've been left with an unhealthy fear of men. In the grocery store, at the mall, at work, in the park, there is never a time when I am just at ease.

One of my biggest concerns a month or two back was going out on something as simple as a date. But for me, dating is not all that simple. While other women might fuss and worry about what to wear, I'm more concerned about whether or not I'll make it home. To me sizing up a man's potential to be violent is like taking into account the color of his eyes. If the lighting if off, you just might mistake a shade of blue for gray, except eye color doesn't predict who will and won't harm you.

And while it was funny (after the fact) that my date was dense enough to think that three dates gave him license to roam his hands over my upper body, daring even to flip up my top to get a grab in on the girls, I can tell you with absolute certainty that I was not finding it funny at the time. In fact, I didn't waste a second when it came to raising up my hand and slapping his away. Still I know how dangerous that situation could have been. A five foot girl against a six foot man wouldn't have stood a chance. Thankfully he left quietly and I haven't regretted it a moment since.

But my point is this, I won't always write the stories you want to read. And I won't attempt to be happy when I've a need to cry. And I won't ask you to always agree with what I have to say, or pretend you get it when you don't. But what I want most is to bring to light the things that have been left in the dark for far too long. To put names and faces to causes that aren't spoken about in any company, including your family and your friends. To admit by my own weakness, that things as surprising as they are to be true, happen each and every day to people you'd never think for one moment would find themselves living in a situation that is absolutely unbearable.

We all have stories. They can be the same and they can be different. But at their end, there's always something for someone else to learn.