The Pain I hide behind a smile

I have realized something about myself.
Something I don't think I fully understood before.
I have a habit of hiding pain behind light.
Behind a joke.
Behind a smile.
Behind a "it's okay."
Behind making someone else laugh when, underneath it all, I am the one who wants to cry.

And perhaps the strangest part is this:

Even when someone has hurt me deeply, my first instinct can still be to wonder how they are feeling.

I discovered this when I looked back at a chapter of my life that still carries more weight than I sometimes admit. Cause...going back usually doesn't do anyone good, right? Unless it is what one need to properly heal...

I remember being hurt.

Not ordinary hurt.

The kind that makes you question things you once believed were safe.

The kind that makes you reread words and wonder which memories were real.

The kind that makes you look at someone differently, even when part of you desperately wishes you could look at them exactly as you did before.

And yet...

while I was hurting,
I was still thinking about the other person.
They were hurting too.
They felt guilt.
They felt broken.
They felt they didn't deserve forgiveness or kindness.

And somehow, even while my own heart was aching, I wanted to comfort them.
I wanted to make sure they were okay.
I wanted to make the pain lighter.

And I think that says something about me.
Something maybe a little beautiful, what do I know...

But perhaps also something I need to learn to handle differently.
Because empathy is a wonderful thing.
But empathy should not mean disappearing from your own story, right?

I can understand someone else's pain without making mine smaller, without making it... Less important.

I can care about someone's tears without forgetting my own.
I can forgive without pretending nothing happened.
I can offer kindness without declaring that I wasn't hurt.

And perhaps most importantly...
I can love someone and still admit that they hurt me.

Those truths don't contradict each other.

For a long time, I think I believed that if I chose kindness, I somehow had to surrender my right to pain.

As though forgiving meant I wasn't allowed to grieve.

As though understanding meant I wasn't allowed to be angry.

As though caring about someone meant I had to put their heart before mine.

But I'm beginning to understand something.

My heart belongs in the room too.

It deserves a chair at the table.

It deserves to speak.

It deserves to be heard before I rush to make everyone else comfortable.

Maybe the smile isn't the problem.

Maybe the laughter isn't the problem.

Maybe being someone who brings light into dark places is one of the most beautiful parts of who I am.

I don't want to lose that part of myself.

I simply want to learn that I don't have to shine so brightly for everyone else that nobody notices when my own light is flickering. And maybe just... Say it as it is sometimes.... If I dare to. Even if it would feel.... Pointless. 

So perhaps the next time I find myself reaching instinctively for someone else's pain...

I will pause.
Take a breath.
And ask myself one small question:
What about me?

Not selfishly.

Not cruelly.

Just gently.

Because I am learning that caring for others and caring for myself were never supposed to be opposing choices.

There is room for both.

There is room for their tears.

And mine.

Their pain.

And mine.

Their healing.

And mine.

And perhaps true kindness begins there...

Not with forgetting ourselves for someone else,
but with finally learning that
we belong among the people we are so willing to love.

Or is that a completely stupid thought, that landed in the night? Hmm... Maybe I won't know the answer to that...

Anyway, goodnight world. 

- Merry -