transparency

The problem with being transparent
is that glass shatters.

Nothing hidden. No secrets. No lies.
You can see right through me.

But my words cut deep and do harm
when I am broken.

When I am exhausted, when I am hungry,
when the fearful powerlessness that haunted my childhood looms large,
when I have been pushed just a little too far…

CRASH!

I shatter,
and the stinging shards hit those closest to me.

I hate causing pain.

I wish I could be wooden, or wool, or plastic,
something that bounces back.

I wish I could take the pressure of one whole day and bear it like steel.

But I am not steel.

I am glass.

Beautiful, light-catching glass.
Helping others to see what is real & true glass.
Looking from the outside-in and the inside-out glass.

And when the bowling ball of

                           dishes
                    and bills and
            grief and groceries and
      anger and disorders and work
             and hormones and hair
                    and fear and
                             loss

comes flying at me,

The shards of my fractured reaction draw blood
and make scars on top of scars.

It’s ugly.

And picking up the pieces cuts me too.
We sit broken and bloody in the mess.

Maybe there is hope.
Maybe each repair can be like the lead poured between stained glass.

Maybe I can stream light AND be strong – both together, not either-or.

Maybe as I become safer, they become less afraid.
Maybe I can heal. Maybe they can heal.

Maybe we can be okay.