Gathering the Pieces of Our True Self

From the moment of our birth to our inevitable death small pieces of ourselves break away. Each time we are demeaned by the parent who calls us stupid, the teacher who embarrasses us in class, or the girl in the locker next to ours who tells us we're ugly, our soul shrivels and a miniscule flake flutters over here, or a small, microscopic piece ends up at our feet unnoticed.  As adults we are continually told that we don't have what it takes.  We are told, if not in words, by watching the consequences of others who dare to buck the system, that we must conform in order to survive.  With each critical word, or stern look the pieces continue to be extracted. Slowly we are eroded until we have little left of our true selves.   We may not even notice it until we wake up and realize that we don't even know what our favorite color is.    

For some it is abuse that scrapes the very soul.  For others it is a critical questioning of our motives and perhaps even our sanity.  For some it may be poor choices which trapped us in unbearable situations we need to get out of, or a legacy of illiteracy and poverty that holds on to us with tentacles that won't let go.  Still more are bombarded by sarcasm, in the disguise of humor, and unkind words that cut to the very quick.  And more yet that are seeing their dreams disappear because of the expectations and demands of others who care little for our own emotional needs. It's a wonder that as adults more of us do not end up with wounded souls?

I liken myself to the fragility of a butterfly.  Chaos, discord, and insults can shrivel my wings until I am unable to fly.  I thrive in harmony, gentility, and kindness.