to be vulnerable

xxx

in my high school english class, we had an assignment where everyone went to the whiteboard and wrote one word that described humanity.

i wrote vulnerable.

and this week, i've seen exactly why i felt that way back then, and how it still rings true to me now. i received the sweetest compliment from an elderly woman at wal-mart. a simple, "i just love your dress" kept me elated for the next few days. it was enough to get me through pressures at work and growing demands at school that threatened to swallow me whole this week.

but i've been put down, too. called down, pushed down, and gently placed down off my invisible pedestal. and that's been enough to ruin me for weeks at a time. it's a vicious, yet altogether worth it, two-sided coin, this being human.

because at our very nature, we are interactive. yet, as the Bible reminds us, we are also flawed, imperfect creatures. so on this earth, we correspond every day with people who can never, no matter how hard they try, be 100% good, 100% of the time. we're going to hurt each other, there's no getting around that. but we're also going to lift each other up to unexpected heights, too. because as humans, we have the power to do both.

sometimes i forget the weight of my words. their heaviness and impact. their power to leave scars or to erase them. it's a huge and overwhelming responsibility. but scanning through the cold freezer aisle of wal-mart, i was reminded.

that it's also a beautiful gift, bestowed on us by a God who believes in our ability to do great things, and say nice ones. to lovingly reach for that perfect goodness, even if it's always right past our fingertips. because in the reaching, we love, and in the loving, we lift.

the pains and gains of womanhood

she seemed glad to see me when i appeared in the kitchen, and by watching her i began to think there was some skill involved in being a girl.

-to kill a mockingbird

 xxxx

it happened on wednesday. standing in line for my frappe. white chocolate mocha with a shot of caramel. at a new coffee shop. across the street from the post office where my dad works. a little lunch break reprieve.

i felt a tiny hand on my shoulder, and turned around. a middle-aged woman, with graying hair, modest slacks and an oversized sweater looked through her glasses into my eyes. "i just don't know how you do it," she spoke to me in her southern voice not unlike my own. "those high heels. don't they hurt your feet?" 

i looked down at my shiny brown pumps, a little bit of toe cleavage emerged, then sunk back into the leather, as the tips of the shoes made a sharp point. she was right. they were uncomfortable. too high. too pointy. a bit too small. "i don't know..." i trailed off. "the things you do for fashion, i guess!" i smiled to close the conversation, grabbed my sweating coffee, and hurried out the door, careful to walk precisely, to demonstrate to her that i could, indeed, navigate my way on the cobblestone wearing these awful shoes.

it happened again on thursday.

i came home yesterday evening and even before kissing robert or rubbing pablo's ears, i unzipped my dress. and took a deep breath. for the first time all day. a real, good, from-the-gut inhale. and it felt delicious.

because all day, i had squeezed my upper body into this outfit that hugged me, squeezed me, controlled me.

robert just shook his head. "i don't know why you girls torture yourself like this" he said as he helped me lift the dress over my curls.

but what he doesn't know, what he can never realize, is that i do it because i want to.

because that dress was from h&m. it was silver and purple. flowy and ruffly on the bottom. only seven dollars on sale. one of my favorite new finds. heck, one of my favorite new dresses period. and i was willing to suffer a little for it, i suppose.

because femininity is sacred, and takes many different forms.

for some, it's sinking into a bubble bath, nose deep. it can be cooking. dancing. wearing your husband's button-down shirt. rocking babies.

it can also be playing sports. getting muddy. dirty. sweaty. 

for me, it's all these things. and more.

and on some days, especially days like this week--with all the stress over family health, starting graduate school, and work pressure that came with it--yes, it was high heels and a terribly uncomfortable but ultimately beautiful dress.

and who cares if no one understands or appreciates it besides me? that's what makes it special.

and, i suppose, pretty skillful.

you'll be the first to spin your story

after my shower last night, i looked in the mirror.

the tiny, silver rimmed one cleverly masking the medicine cabinet. with its still damp toothbrush.

and i took a second to examine my eyes. the curve of my lips, the shape of my forehead. the height of my cheekbones and the depths of my pupils. i tried to look subjectively. from an outside perspective. and i almost accomplished it. for a split second, i saw a stranger. past the familiar, the usual and the comfortable. into an alien state of out-of-body consciousness. i forgot my favorites. my likes and dislikes. my preferences and tastes. and just saw a girl. with wet hair in a bun and smudged mascara.

then my glance turned upward. to the tiny crevice emerging just slightly from the top of my left brow. a tiny pock mark no bigger than the head of a pushpin. a light scar from the time i had chickenpox in elementary school. in my impatience and utter agony, i had scratched at the surface of my skin, and everyone knows you don't scratch chickenpox. you just don't.

and i returned. to myself, the evening, the present.

because it was quite possible, that at that very moment, another girl was doing the exact same thing, wet hair and all. maybe in paris. maybe in ecuador. maybe right down the road. there was a chance that her hair was wet, that she had just taken a deliciously hot bath. that her mascara was leaking.

but i knew for certain, beyond any doubt creeping in with the moon, that no one was running her finger across a tiny, circular imprint just above her brow. jaggedly round, with a raised right side.

that was just me. just courtney.