fierce

vulnerable  (ˈvʌlnərəb ə l)

capable of being physically or emotionally wounded or hurt

brave  (breɪv)

having or displaying courage, resolution, or daring; not cowardly or timid

 

I’m done. Done pretending I’m someone I’m not. Done pretending I’m happy. Done earning my Daytime Emmy for Best Actress.

I worked my ass off for that Emmy. It was exhausting. I earned it at the expense of my career (what career?), my kids, my home, my marriage. I pretended for so long, that I forgot who I was.

So I ran. And I ran and ran and ran. And after 1300 miles in one year, I had it. I had the answer.

Done. I’m done.

It took me a while to get to it though. I was safe, financially. Secure, relatively. Happy? Sometimes. I remember describing to a friend how I wasn’t always unhappy, it just seemed like it was fleeting. There were little moments of happiness, but they went as soon as they’d come, no matter how I invited them to stay. I remember saying how it felt like I just didn’t get to be happy. Like that wasn’t for me.

And then, a little bit later, I remember thinking, “wait, what the fuck? I don’t get to be happy? Nooooo.” And then I realized what it would take.

Vulnerability. Bravery. I thought I’d been those things. Well, brave, anyway. Vulnerable? Ick. Nope. Not for me. I got these walls, you see. No one can get in. No one can hurt me. I FEEL NOTHING. Emotions suck. All of them.

Which was all very un-brave of me. Very.

So one day, I got a tattoo. And then I got two more.

fierce fi(ə)rs/

(of a feeling, emotion, or action) showing a heartfelt and powerful intensity.

It’s on the back of my neck. Top of my spine. Centered.

And arrows. One on each arm. Arrows MUST be pulled back, refocused, and sent to fly. You can aim, but they’ll land where they will.

And like that, I opened myself up. I allowed myself to admit my unhappiness, and move towards changing it.

And every day, it’s a fight. And every day, it’s becoming easier. I don’t have to seek joy every day. I have joy every day. I seek greater joys.

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