Ruderal Spaces

My heart said, lead with me. I am trustworthy. You do not need to attempt my protection. It can’t be achieved because nothing can hurt me. My very purpose is to be available for hurting; hurt doesn’t hurt me – I’m made for it. I am designed to be at the forefront of your life. I function best exposed to wounding. Put me out there. If you wish to live, it’s the safest and best thing you can do for yourself and it’s the only way to keep me from shriveling up into a scabby black hard lump. I am meant to be the first thing the world sees. I am the part of you that needs to take the brunt of your experiences. Show me off – stick me in front of you, push me up through your back, spin me around in all directions. Do anything but shove me down and stuff me deep inside. Lead with me. When you lead with some other part of yourself, thinking you are playing it safe and protecting me, that part of you can’t handle it. Your face, your ego, your clenched jaw instead gets battered, brui

It’s not hard to see our urge to fit in, belong, be liked, be a part of. Whether we’re 16 or 43, the source of the hardness that comes out in our behavior is often transparently obvious – our unease and discomfort with ourselves, our fear of being rejected, excluded. If we can’t get in by playing the game right, we push it all away by acting like it doesn’t matter. Whether I’m playing or pushing, what is it I believe, cling to, rely on? On what, or whom, do I fix my gaze? In the world, I am a lawyer, a second wife, a stepmother, a barren woman. Labels I am reluctant to claim, identities I don’t fully recognize, roles I fail at, wear uneasily, want to apologize for, justify, and explain. I am afraid, I don’t know what direction I’m supposed to take. I don’t know what anyone is expecting of me, but I know I’m not measuring up. When I look at myself through these lenses I feel broken and condemned.   “What is wrong with you?!” I demand with my voice shaking. “Maybe I’m just