The bravest thing I have ever done was give myself permission to bloom.
Without rules, without limits.
I thought the burns were what made me beautiful.
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To be beautiful, to be bravewhat more could I want?
I thought to myself: What a small price to pay for all I ever wanted.
Ishouldalways remember that without this pain, I would be nothing.
I made you visible, the darkness hissed.
I wore my new visibility with just enough self-hate to make me funny and likable.
But not too much, because to be too much of anything would take away my worth.
Alas, what sounds too good to be true often is.
Soon, my visibility turned to panicked looks.
My willpower was now in the form of sunken eyes and transparent skin.
Mybeautyhad made me bald.
Suddenly, beauty didnt feel so beautiful.
I lost and I lost, until I lost it alleven myself.
My eyes could still not see the danger I lived in or the worry others felt.
Eventually, I stopped suffering.
There was nowhere left to sink.
But somehow, existing seemed worse.
I was too far forward to slip backwards into the dark with the same rush of free fall.
So I existed in limbo for quite a while.
I couldnt go back, but my legs no longer knew which way forward was.
And it was in my sitting that I got to know my memories and feelings.
I came to know them more than I ever wanted to and more than I ever thought I needed.
They visited me one by one.
And I listened to their stories and slowly accepted them as part of mine.
I met my trauma and her friends.
And then something odd happened.
One day, my pieces came to visit, and I welcomed them with acceptance.
They started to bring me other pieces.
I asked them, Where did these come fro and why didnt you bring them sooner?
They responded, Theyve been here along.
You just werent able to embrace them yet.
And I began to grow.
I grew and grew; strong roots, thorns, strength.
But it wasnt until I started to bloom that I realized what beauty and bravery really felt like.
No longer such a thing as not enough or too much.
