My marriage and each horrid memory that came with it has seeped deep into my veins; yet sitting on the inner layer of my skin where pain is most sensitive. Why it has taken two years since the nightmare to poison me is uncertain. But it is, I suppose a good pain. More flavor to the story of my life that makes me the strong person I am. I mean, come on, I know I kick ass. No question about that!
Conceded or confident? I say confident.
Merriam Webster's dictionary states: con-fi-dence (noun): a feeling or consciousness of one's powers or of reliance on one's circumstances.
So, why the tears? It breaks my heart knowing there are battered, fragile women who feel torn to constantly meet the needs of others. The need to please. I've been a victim of the "Pleasing Syndrome," but ladies: we don't have to!
I will never forget when I saw her curled up in a ball, head down, unable speak. Her traumatic encounter from the night before left her feeling helpless, powerless. I so wanted to take her in my arms, let her cry on my shoulder and never let go. But I couldn't. She was untouchable. I've never met someone who hated herself so much. God knows I've tried to help her see the beauty in life; and even more so, in herself. She was the first woman I ever loved so much it hurts. I will never gaze into those eyes again, hear the music of her laughter or get that clammy hands-tingling-heart-throbbing feeling when she enters the room. Knowing that not seeing her again is for the best--that is the molecule within the tear that stings the most.
We as women should feel the power to fight back. No one deserves to feel that broken. We are just as capable as anyone of becoming every bit successful. No one looking down on us pointing their finger with so-called "authority."
Who's to say they are right? That they have more wisdom?
"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."--Eleanor Roosevelt
