I am afraid that I will never know myself beyond the girl who was bred to be palatable. I am afraid that I have been too agreeable, too eager to assuage the insecurities of men by biting my tongue. I am afraid that this lack of courage is somehow evidence that I will not live the life I dream of. And I am afraid that if I do, on the other side of my yearning will only exist more yearning.
I am afraid that I will never feel known, that this dragging loneliness is waiting for a friend who may never arrive. I am afraid of a life spent waiting for it to begin, a shallow existence that never dares take a risk before knowing the outcome. I am afraid that I have been a bad friend, a bad lover, a bad daughter. I am afraid that I am too easily convinced, and that my will is not strong enough to withstand the current. I am afraid I may drown. I am afraid there is no cure.
So now, I sit as a twenty-three-year-old woman in my twin bed. I do not cook well, and I am often inconsistent. I am irrational and impulsive, and I secretly hope that chaos lurks around every corner. It suits me well, and anyway, I would rather live a life intriguing than underwhelming. But I am too concerned with how it looks on the outside, and too convinced that my chance has passed me by. I know my life becomes what I think, so I must think beautiful thoughts. And sometimes I do, but sometimes I do not. Sometimes I worry the rug will be pulled out from underneath me again. I suppose I am using memories of what has happened in the past as evidence of what will happen in the future. I am looking for some invitation to begin thinking otherwise.
More than anything, I want to feel a real certainty in my heart that does not waver in raging tides. I want to know my place in the world because I put my stake in the ground, not because I was told by a man to do so. I want to hear my name called back to me in love over and over again. I want to be a published writer, a household name, a girl remembered. I want a front porch and a garden and a song to hum. I want a home with no eggshells. I want to be old and rugged but not worn down. I want a sense of belonging to ring my door so I can invite it inside. And in the meantime, I want to know that it’s coming.