Somebody's Something

There is a viral video circulating where a woman (Josey) is crying out in loneliness. Literal tears. She says, “I may not be pretty to everybody… I just want to be somebody’s something.” The responses were laden with suggestions of self-love as if there had been an assessment of her self-perception or personal fortitude. There were also many demands for her to take on a position of gratitude that she doesn’t have to deal with another person’s hang-ups.

 The seemingly inappropriate display of vulnerability to the masses was so loud (in impact) that her pronouncement of value wasn’t received.  I heard her say, “I deserve to be happy.” Through the tears and the aching of her soul, she had a revelation of her worth. I’m moved to trust that she neither harbors disdain toward herself nor lacks the aptitude to house relational restraint. Such a public confession is indicative of the kind of courage that rests upon the borders of desolation and desperation. Pride loses vitality when hope expires; this was her cry for help. People don’t run out of burning buildings with couth and composure… there is no universal authority on navigating your breaking point.

 My perception may be biased as I have journeyed through long-standing loneliness having gathered the skills of survival in the wake of isolation’s way.

 There was evidential weathering woven through the lace of her lament; it’s not always easy to find your people. Often that which is desirable is partnered with a price… throwing caution to the wind. Ordinary caution is likened to reasonable reservation, but caution that has undergone calcification aged by isolation is thick… stubborn, and shrouded with fear. Another part of the battle of loneliness is touch starvation. Like the feeling you experience after fasting for a while and then reintroduce eating with heavy solids, it can be repulsive. Skin-to-skin (therapy) is not a modality reserved for infants, it’s a human necessity.  

The irony, what I need the most is equally what I have evaded, a hug. I don’t know if I’ve met a person safe enough to share that I need them to hug me patiently until my body understands that it is safe. I imagine the tension within the hug would eventually dissolve… maybe tears would swell, perhaps an overdue exhale would escape me. I long to meet the patience that is stocked with discerning compassion, enough to embrace me until self-preservation pills and brushes away with humility.   

Just a couple of extra moments of compassion where I don’t have to be composed…

Many are moving about plagued by a safe, but tormenting lull of loneliness. Josey was just braved enough to expose her desire to be received risking judgment and welcoming an opportunity for her feelings to be affirmed, fulfilled, and validated. We are our brother’s keeper and each of us are deserving of a safe place to be kept.

xx,

kayla