Autobiography
This morning, 5am
She wrote down words of encouragement in a little card, then sealed the envelope. She knew from experience what a difference a few words could make.
With secret glee she planned, anticiplating the joy those words might bring. Their hidden message: You are special, and I am privileged to know you. I cherish your friendship. I care.
She was in awe of him, too. A respected leader. One whose good opinion was worth a great deal.
The card changed hands. He thanked her the next time he saw her. She was glad. Satisfied that she'd brought a ray of light into his life.
Then, one day, she asked him for a favour. Allowed him to see a weakness.
She wasn't one to deny her failings. In fact, in private she flailed herself over them. In public, she was rueful. Laughed at herself. Agreed with her detractors.
Stern and unbending, he reprimanded her. Reminiscent of her parents.
Suddenly, she felt inadequate and inept. Feelings she battled alone on dark, silent nights. No one knew; no one would have guessed. A secret hidden beneath the blithe, confident mask.
Something inside shrivelled up. Walls clanked into place.
"I'm not perfect," she wanted to cry.
But she'd always been expected to be or so she felt.
The disapproval was loud and clear.
Her hungry heart, aching for tenderness, kindness, patience, love, broke a little more.
She would never again ask anything of him.
Never again let him glimpse the real her.
Never again allow herself to care.
Others took his place.
More disapproval. More displeasure. More criticism and censure.
More walls clanked up. Closing in.
Hope shrivelled. Pain cut deep. Doubts abounded.
Dark, silent nights when the thoughts would not go away. Feeling unlovely and unloved. Unloveable. Afraid that it would always be thus.
"It's just You and me, God," she whispered, forlorn.
"But oh, God, it's not enough. I need someone to hold me..." Weeping into her pillow.
And no one knew.