It's interesting walking around my life without much skin on. Raw. Exposed. Unable to keep the balls in the air. It takes some of the pressure off, all of the pressure off really in regard to being something or someone I'm not...and makes me beyond protective of who I spend time with. It gives great clarity as to who you can be totally yourself with and who you can't (and maybe haven't for much of your relationship with that person). It opens your eyes and lets you see--some things you want to and some, trust me, you don't. But it really doesn't matter or change the fact that when you are raw you only want to be around the authentic. I mean the down and dirty real. Everything but the truth--and I mean that in every sense--is like sandpaper on your exposed soul. I can muster that "out in public" face for a time, when absolutely need be, but suddenly I feel myself starting to turn into a pumpkin and at some point I have to go, back to a place where there is no room for pretense, back to someone who can wash my skinless-ness and tend to my wounds with words of love, or maybe no words at all, and to whom I owe no explanation. Some people know how to help us breathe again, while others somehow make it harder to breathe--even if that isn't their intention.
I was watching Shania Twain on Oprah late the other night and as she was recalling her story of betrayal and heartbreak, at one point they were talking together about how she hasn't been able to sing. It showed her going to a specialist to rule out any kind of serious condition in her throat and vocal chords, which they did, and she admitted she hopes to sing again in the near future, but here's my point. For the first time in my life, during this time of my own betrayal and heartbreak, I have moments when I have no strength in my voice. It's the strangest thing, I'll be crying to myself or trying to say something to someone specifically about my pain and I don't recognize the small voice coming out of me. This mewling weak cry I hear, is completely foreign, it feels like I have nothing inside to propel my voice--I've never had that happen to me before. And watching Shania made me realize that some traumas just might affect us like that sometimes. We must, on some level I think, feel as though we had no voice in regard to the betrayal and this turn in our lives. Maybe, as Marcel Marceau said, some things leave us all without words. We are voiceless until we can crawl back to some kind of inner strength again. Till we can somehow through light and grace and love grow skin again.