I hide behind words that mask the compulsion to meet the expectations that make this world smaller.
You’d think that somehow, after years of preparation, I would face this day with an armor of faith, an anchor of hope, and a balance of conviction.
I just came from a vacation. I just went to confession. I just devoted a Day of Prayer. And then it hit me, and I blinked. Bad news struck like a personalized thunderbolt. Where did this come from? Why didn’t I see it coming?
It had happened to me before, so I should be used to it by now. But knowledge of their seizures does not heal epileptics.
I should be strong. I should be calm. I should mask my feelings and be gracious.
And when I feel like climbing into a dark hole to wait for the sun to rise, I will just write. I am not allowed to be weak. I am not allowed to feel pain.
I have news for them: I do get hurt too. When I lose a friend over a fight for my principles, it kills me too. When I lose ten friends because I tried to do the right thing, in obedience and submission, I shed endless tears.
When I get my heart broken, or insulted, or ignored, it affects me, more than raindrops could drench my clothes and rust could eat away steel.
I am human. I work. I obey. I hope. To those who say leaders should not feel emotion, I ask you to feel yours. You could bleed to death too.