The Urge

It rises from within like water bubbling through layers of silt, that familiar urge.  Pulling at my mind and heart, self-doubt wrapped in guilt and colored muddy with anxious fear.

Take it back.

Words flew from my lips and fingertips sparked by passion and feelings of righteousness and being tired of the same. old. thing.

Smooth it over.

What is a voice for, if not to be used?  I have found myself in a new year, screaming louder than ever before, caring less and less what people think.  When I first dubbed 2018 the year of not giving a fuck what other people think, I was kind of joking.

It has only taken a week to realize I'm not joking.

Am I supposed to be a certain way?  When I think about what is expected of me, I see pictures and words.

Skinny.  Compliant.  Agreeable.  Ladylike.  Peacekeeper.  Forgiving.

These are not the words that light the fire within me.  I can feel my passion rising to the point of overtaking me, and I've never felt such power.


But, for what?  I have done nothing wrong.  This urge to silence my own voice is as infuriating as it is ridiculous, and it has been ground into me year after year, experience after experience.

But they might be mad... upset... at me...

It is not my job to make you feel better about the things you don't understand.  It is not my job to re-assure you that I know YOU aren't the bad guy.  It is not my job to walk you through examining your part in this story.  It is time for me to write MY part.

It is not I who does not understand.  I have been overlooked and pushed aside because of what lies between my legs and beneath my skin.

Look, I'm not trying to say...

The more I look, the more there are.  I tear up reading The Militant Baker.  I am wholly inspired by Anna, her look, her kindness, her positivity, and her unapologetic commitment to being who she is.  I devour Shrill, the way you devour a book you're unable to put down because there they are - the words you had inside you and didn't know how to say.

I am not alone.

I don't think you're a bad person...

I am starting to understand that it is okay to love myself.  It is okay, even, if that means that I am not always nice, that I don't have to let people off the hook for things they didn't mean or didn't think about.  There can be no change without realization.  There can be no progress without self-examination.

I know you don't mean to be hurtful...

My dreams have changed, they have morphed, they run ahead of me like sprites laughing in the sun, calling me to catch up with them.  I have new heroes now, and to join their ranks would be an honor.

I don't mean to be confrontational...

I don't?  I think... I do.  I think 37 years in, it's about time for a big damn confrontation.