My feminist education teaches me to be wary of flattery – that it’s subversive subjugation and yet it makes my defences and knees weak. It’s even worse when I feel continually pulled back to the walls, the defenses only because it’s familiar not because it’s safe, fulfilling or constructive. Social input says I’m crazy that I would have even chosen this method, that I believe it’s viable – that honesty can be found in words, expressions and a screen. Fears make me worry that the woman he believes I am, is one who is conservative and I’m not and yet I am. I worry that he does like Joel Osteen, like really like him and more so that our walks are different – that my months and years of dryness, or struggles have made me see my faith very differently – neither of us right and neither of us wrong – life just brings battles, scars and healing. Each journey unique like we are – yet I worry it’s not understood, that I’m not understood. That the life I seek is one not like he does.
As a whole a part of me feels like an animal out of it’s natural environment, and yet I’ve been placed in a replica – it’s not the same – the important pieces are missing – those things that I cherish, the depth has been removed – the jungle is just a mural now, instead of sounds, textures and colours. That likely doesn’t make sense – but Leaha wanted a blog, and I want to sleep – so it has to come out of my brain.
Photo courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/kmtucker/1198899259/