Remain- No, a Return- to Softness In a Hardened World.

I'm goin back.

Soft. Sawft. “You sawfftt,” they would say. Who is they, you ask? Simple answer? They are people that I once looked up to, people that I thought of as strong, resilient, a force- the opposite, of me. Or so I was told.

As a child, my parent tried to toughen me up. I was often told that my empathy would lead me down a hard path and into a world of hurt. That not everyone deserved, or wanted, my sympathy. I would cry for the world when I would see starving children, only to be reminded at dinner that those children I sobbed for would beat me up for the peas I didn’t want. I would express sadness over a homeless man that lost his arm, only to be told that if given the chance, he would most likely beat me over the head with his stump. Good Lord. These incidents (trust me there are more) did not harden me. They frightened me. It made me sad to think that people would turn my sympathy against me. For what? I was confused. I asked my parent why this was, and I was told, “This is how the world works.” Yikes on a bike. I’d better turn that fear into caution, mistrust. Resilience. Force. Hardness. At least on the exterior, right? But when the exterior is so far removed from the interior, can that be maintained. Long term? Hmm. When the true self is so far removed from the self that is presented, how long can one keep up the façade? How long should one keep it up?

It is only as an adult (who has been through some things, lemme tell ya) that I was able to look back at that soft little girl and realize that she spent a lot of time afraid. But not of the world. Not the outside world. The turmoil was in her home. I realize now that my parent was tired-exhausted really- and just did not have the energy to soothe me. I was a self soother. “Girl, quit whining about that nonsense and go play/read/sit down somewhere.” My siblings learned from my parent, but they were not only dismissive but also would not hesitate to use my secrets and triggers against me. My siblings are all at least 9 years older than me. What teenager with angst wants to listen to some nerdy little kid whine about kids in Africa? My oldest sibling would use my tender feelings for them only when they wanted something from me. Another sibling would listen to my cares and concerns, but oh when they got mad at me- they would throw them back at me with a viciousness that could only be matched by my exhausted parent. Of course my older cousins learned this behavior, and I was always made fun of, the butt of the joke. “Toughen up, we just playing with you,” they would say, exasperated, as I cried. “You always gotta ruin stuff.” “Big crybaby.” This went on into my late teens. Everyone used to think it was funny. Now everyone wonders why they rarely hear from me.

After leaving my parents home, I had to navigate the world alone. It was so hard for me to make meaningful connections, I was always waiting for someone to turn on me. To use what happened yesterday against me today. But did I do anything yesterday? Let me replay that conversation over again. What did I say at lunch? Did that joke offend anyone? Omg, they think I’m an idiot. What a way to live.

It wasn’t until last year, when my disability finally got the better of me, that I said, to heck with hardness. It’s no way to live. I hate it. I want to be soft. I want to volunteer. I want to give a dollar to a homeless person ever so often, I want to buy him a meal. I want to be the person my friends call on when they are hurt or discouraged. I want flower beds and iced tea in the garden. I want sunshine and laughter. I want to trust. I want to love. I want to Be Loved. And that is ok.

The story that I will end with is the story that I was told as a child. It wasn’t until I was older that it hit me. The true reason they tried to harden me up. Where it all started. Listen with your minds ears. Give the narrator the voice of your choosing. Afterward, ask yourself why you picked that persons voice:

“I had to be about eighteen or nineteen. We was waiting for the bus. This old man with a cane come walkin by. He ask everybody for a dollar- “‘You gotta dollar?” “can I get a dollar?’”

“Well, when come past me, I felt sorry for him. People saw that and they say, ‘Don’t do it!! He just gon’ but liquor with it!’ But I didn’t pay them no mind cause he said he was hungry. Well, when we got on the bus, we seen him coming out the liquor store, with brown bag in hand. That whole bus ride people was laughing and saying ‘We told you so!’ And I ain’t gave a bum a nickel since.”

So there it is. I know that this was only one instance of many that shaped my parents' worldview, but it no longer shapes mine. I don’t belong in a hard world. I was not built for it. And I am no longer embarrassed by that. I like things to be soft, even when times are difficult. I want to believe in people. I want to give others the benefit of the doubt. I love my found family, and I am still working on loving without fear. I am setting up a little spot in the world where softness and love will prevail, even in bad times. Especially in bad times. I’m going to let that little girl thrive in the way she always wanted to. And I will encourage others to do the same, if they are so inclined. The little girl is back, and she wishes you well.