I can come into a room and lead a group through facilitation and wear the mask of confidence – and indeed I do feel a great real joy doing the work – but inside, inside I am crumbling.
I wish I didn’t feel guilty for taking up space.
At the grocery store cashier lineup, the sweat inevitably starts, and I fumble with my card, I never tap properly, my glasses slip, I am so damn hot, and I fumble with bags and can’t get out of there fast enough.
When confident, my soul takes up the full space inside my flesh envelope – attached neatly to each nook and cranny by snaps. But lately, the snaps undo too easily, too often – worn out and no longer holding well. In those moments, my soul is limp – a deflated tube person, hanging on by a few snaps, weighted down by gravity, pathetically holding on to a pelvic bone, a lower limb. Waiting for the next gust.