NO ONE SHOULD LIVE IN A TOWER

Pretty sure I was born opinionated. Not "nice to hear your perspective" opinionated, but "shut up and sit down, that shouldn't be said out loud" opinionated. I have spent the bulk of my life attempting to silence, or at the very least, modulate myself. Unsuccessfully.

I caused my parents an inordinate amount of grief. And Myself. And probably lots of others.

Being slightly ADD and... ummmm….energetic, mildly impulsive and (at times) LOUD may have contributed to my demise.

Growing up in the church made this trait especially heinous. I learned early on that there were certain questions you asked in Sunday School and ones that were delegated strictly to a very personal, locked and hidden journal. I didn't fit. I wasn't rebellious, per say. I just came across that way.

I was, you know, testy. Because.... really? REALLY?

I learned early on it was better to hide and comply.

And choose my battles.

I just always seemed to choose the wrong ones.

I was silenced and scolded, taught to repress and silently digest.  (Why did no one help me to develop and manage a gift bigger than I could handle? )

For some reason that made me get mad. At the world. And myself.

My attempts at self moderation went in spurts. I tried to tow the line called normal, not speak my perspectives, be unoffensive. Somehow, I always leaked out.

I don't really know when it changed, when attempts to fit in turned into building a fortress of protection; when I became abrasive, using finely tuned verbal arrows.

I became a master of cynicism. Crunchy candy coated honesty that scraped your tongue and made you bleed.

If I pushed back harder, and first, then you wouldn't hurt me. You couldn't anyway. I wouldn't let you. I stopped feeling hurt by life as a small child. (at least that is what I told myself.) I had been mercilessly bullied. From adults and peers alike.  I trekked  through the complex emotional patterns that changed me into a heartless non- feeler…. and just like those who cut me, I began to cut.  

I wasn't really heartless, though. I was scared. And sad. And confused. With nowhere to call time-out. No safe zone. I did what I knew to do.  

Adapt.

Sadly.  I soon fine-tuned my ache into a highly developed soul of steel. Untouchable.  ELOQUENT in my opinions. Mean masqueraded as honesty. Unabashed. Mostly I became skilled in where and when to use well placed words to achieve the outcome needed. I became a master at reading people. Knowing what would push their buttons and what they wanted to hear.
Confession: I pushed some peoples buttons intentionally. Those I saw prey on others, the ones that preyed on me. The ones that fooled everyone with their righteousness.  (I still do this sometimes)

I lived with a chip on my shoulder. I didn't know any better. It was survival of the fittest out there - And I was freakin’ fit.  A hardness developed in my soul. I protected myself from assault, and in the process removed myself from receiving love, tenderness.  And the fortress walls grew.

I ceased speaking my heart and reduced myself to speaking my mind, a mind fueled by hurt and protection.What came across as strength was actually bravado.  

My fortress was large, walls thick, the stone cut rough. I lived alone but I didn't know it.

Years passed. YEARS. Thankfully, some graceful peers saw through my concrete barriers. Never backing down, planting flowers in the hard dirt around my fort of stone, bringing meals, never cringing at my sneer. Slowly, inch by inch, I allowed them to talk to me through a window. Sometimes I even let them hold my hand.

With age I developed skills in diplomacy. After a few well placed books I can venture to say that, at least in my thoughts, I had more finesse. I thought I was free. I ventured from my citadel from time to time to chat with a neighbor. In the mid-day warmth, I would sun myself. Life was good.

Then in one terrifying instant, the walls crumbled.  In one day my fortress of protection burned to the ground. Painful. Exposing. Savagely ripping massive chunks from my safely groomed castle, I stood helpless as the ground shook, the world tilted. I gasped for breath. For days and weeks I wandered trying to pick up the pieces. But I knew. It was over. I had no strength to rebuild. So I surrendered. (it was in this moment I realized the difference between compliance and surrender)

I laid in the snow, naked, bruised, scared in a way I had never experienced. I felt exposed but strangely safe.For the first time, SAFE.  Deep in my core.  I saw that where my breath was the snow had melted and a flower had begun to bloom.  I gingerly touched the petals, gasping as it filled me with warmth. My smile penetrated my soul for the first time in as long as I could remember.

I slowly stood up, turning my face to the sun, and began to live. A new normal. No going back.

I now confidently speak. I am proud of me. I feel pain from life, but more I feel joy. My opinions are now from a soft place, a pure place, a true-to-me place. I speak for the greater good. Contributing. I have a capacity to feel; love, giving and receiving.

I no longer have the strength to fight, but I am stronger than ever. You’ll be happy to know, I forgave myself.  And others. I took responsibility for the pain I brought myself. And others.

The best part?

I discovered ME.  A more mature, but still VERY opinionated woman. She is whole. And pliable. Her opinions are good, even great. In awe I listen to her finely-tuned words, once used to avoid pain, now used for the GREATER GOOD. No longer cringing when speaking with strength, she walks safely in her sphere.

With a greater capacity to love and be loved, to give and receive, she feels lighter. Free. Unchained. I like her. I am her.

To be clear, I fully accept that I will probably offend people until my dying day. I can’t help it. Its that darn point of view. Sometimes it will be on purpose…. because really? REALLY?  

Delicateness may not be part of my posture, but kindness certainly is.

All I can do is commit to pure words, maybe censored, hopefully not. And to be true to who I am, what I believe.

Above all else, hopefully, I can recognize strong gifts in those younger than I. I can build up and not tear down. I can give a voice to those silenced and unlock those that are shackled. Perhaps I will have the honor to lend a hand, or an ear, or a heart. I can walk so maybe I can journey alongside and encourage. Maybe, just maybe, the wreckage of my walls can be made into a platform on which others can stand. Tall. Strong. Proud. (and probably loud)

Because really….

No one should live in a tower.