This Side of Invisible

Dear Insecure, Unstable, Unlovable Girl, It’s not you. It’s me. Honest. I’ve outgrown your skin. I’m too big to live wrapped up tight in your shell, being an observer in my own life. I want to be the main character in my story. I’m no longer content to pass through my days listening to the voices in my head that write my life for me. I want to create my own magic. I’ve met this man. He’s a good man. He makes me laugh. He shows me all the ways I’m beautiful. He grounds me with his kisses and loves me inside my mess. But sometimes, I feel so lonely even when I’m wrapped in his arms. Then, late at night, I cry. I don’t want to cry anymore. I’m exhausted. I want to laugh all the time. To smile every moment, even in the chaotic, disappointing ones. I want to smile because I’m me. And being me is good. Being me is enough. I want to be present with my family, really present. I want to see and taste and smell them in the seconds that we share together. I want to experience ev

There's a tree in my front yard that's quite pathetic. It has but a small tuft of leaves on its topmost branches. Many, strike that, all of its lower branches are long gone, stripped away by forceful winds. And yet the tree is hanging on, growing ever higher, its leaves as green or greener than its healthier, neighboring trees. It reaches for the sky, taller than all the others, waving its arms unceasingly. “I am still here,” it says, “I’m not done yet.” And I wonder, do the trees resent the wind? Would you if it had ripped away pieces of you, large important parts that define you? Do the trees hate the constant push and pull of the breeze? Do they shake as if to say, “go away you merciless bully, quit picking at me, and let me alone?” Are they scared of the storms? Perhaps they aren’t. What if, instead they loved the wind, thanked it for the constant companionship? Maybe they adore the way their leaves look as they wind whips through them, all shimmery in