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Sometimes, I Catch Myself Shrinking
I used to shrink quietly and squeeze my greatness into an old box.
Close to thirty years ago, I labeled it “not the right time,” “you’re not enough,” “who do you think you are?”. It went on and on in my head. It shrank me to a very little sense of self.
I used to laugh bitterly, but only to myself. I felt invisible for so long.
Only the Moon would understand my thoughts, my hopes, and my dreams.
I used to speak to the Moon and write secretly in my locked journal. Under the covers, at night, I read avidly.
Now I know this inner theater piece isn’t about who I was, but about who I was taught I should be. I am not like that anymore. I trust the process and I have been working on healing the pieces, slowly, taking it all step by step.
When we act out of fear,
we cloak ourselves
in a transparent mantle of distrust,
disconnect
from our authentic source,
try to be… less.
Less bothersome, less dreamy, less alive.
A tragic art of subtle self-sabotage.
