By Ruth Ankers
Women all over the world have experienced it. Heart break. The kind that takes you off the map. The kind that distorts your vision for years after. That takes the air out of your lungs and leaves you gasping for breath.
You take time to recover, you build yourself up again and you feel stronger. Like you “can” for the first time in what feels like forever. Like you “are” again.
So, what do you do when someone new comes along?
I’m suddenly in very dangerous territory.
I know I am, because I’m holding back, wary, which is unlike me. I’m checking myself constantly, measuring out the perfect amount of “me” to give to him. I think about what I say, twice, three times.
I have to make sure, this time, I don’t do anything wrong.
I hand pick the best bits of me and I carefully lay them out to him, like i would at a Saturday garden sale.
If he buys this, we should be fine.
And he does, he likes it. We’re onto date two and now I’m trying really hard not to mess it up.
If I let him see the real me and all the bits that aren’t perfect he will end it, and I will feel rejected, again.
I don’t know if I can take that.
Convincing somebody that you’re perfect is exhausting. Trying to be positive all the time is exhausting. Evading your narly spots requires you to bend and stretch yourself in ways you haven’t before, and I’m telling you now, you will end up tangled. You will find yourself a contortionist and him watching you from the side stage as you manifest yourself into someone you’re not. Ta-da!
Why can’t I just be myself?
Why, when he is opening up to me, telling me things about his family, do I withhold all my secrets. Why do I nod along, a paper cut out of myself. Why can’t I give him anything of myself?
Why is it so much easier to not let him in? I know I can’t sustain this forever. But if I break, I only have myself to blame.
It’s a month in and it’s not changing. If anything it’s getting worse.
The closer I get to him, the higher I build the wall. Although I think I’m doing a pretty good job of making it invisible to him. I’m constantly waiting for him to notice, to say those dreaded words “we need to talk”. And he does.
But here comes the crux.
Despite the fact we worked it out, he told me something which woke me up. He said he felt that “something was missing”.
And he was right, wasn’t he.
The bit that was missing was me.
The real me. The human, fallible me. With a whole lot of history which has made me who I am. The substance, the wholeness, the grit and the bits that have worn away. The backlog of life experience, the grazes and bumps and the skeletons in the wardrobe. The wholeness that comes with being completely human.
So, if your reading this, please take my advice.
All of you.
Know that it is okay to be vunrable. To be human, to come with bruises and bits that hurt.
It’s okay to open up and tell the truth, it’s okay to not be the version of yourself which came in the original packaging.
You have had a LIFE and that has shaped you. Something you should never apologise for.
Don’t hide yourself, contort yourself or withhold yourself from someone. They too are human, they too have a history and a whole lot of baggage that comes with that. They have been rebuffed as they have moved across the world.
If you can accept someone for who they are why don’t you feel you deserve to be accepted for being you?
In the words of Will Durant:
“We must steel ourselves against utopias and be content with a slightly better state”.
We don’t have to be perfect. We just have to be ourselves.
About The Author
Ruth Ankers is a Drama and Applied Theatre Practitioner and Teacher. She favours writing poetry and short plays. Ruth is a firm believer in equality of gender and is really exited to be writing for Gender + the City!