Free

I stood with my cheeks flushed.  She'd done it again; shrinky-dinked me into a lesser version of myself and I'd let her do it.  I hated myself for that and wondered what it'd be like to be free.

"So?" she asked, eyebrows perched in judgment.

I nodded my grown head like a little girl.  And I seethed.  The deepest part of me roiled and screamed.  I wanted to belt an Evanescence song at her.  But I did nothing.

That night I stared sleeplessly at the popcorn ceiling.  Weeks after, I still cringed at the thought of that moment and the mounds of moments collected through my life, all of them muddled into one scathing pile. Something had to change.  I shivered as a terrifying thought hit--it had to be me.

It started slow: a refusal to nod, an absence of agreement, a "no".  At first like pushing a boulder uphill but soon like chasing it down a slope.

I still wonder what freedom could feel like. But I'm beginning to understand little trinkets of it.  I don't cringe at insults; their lies aren't my truth.  I don't cower from displeasing; I speak from the heart.  I stand when I used to run.  I fight when I used to wilt.

These changes have come softly, painfully and beautifully with time.  The patches are off my eyes.  I'm becoming free.