A Good Samaritan

My soul gasps for breath,
Shovels full of dirt fill my lungs and eyes and ears and. . .

I try to scream, make noise. Anything to indicate that a living, breathing person is being buried alive.

To be seen and heard so they will let me out . . .

Of the box of who I used to be.
They don’t see me growing.
They don’t see me different.

They see the old mistakes and reactions and sins.

Somehow, I find the energy to place others in the same box.
I don’t see them growing.
I don’t see them different.

I imagine the shovels of dirt I am heaping onto their spirit.

People change. People grow.
Let’s pray for them and
just as we would with any other thing we pray for…

let’s EXPECT it.

Let’s set boundaries where they are needed but not build walls.

I lay down the burden of managing other people’s perceptions.
Their “truth” is just their perception,
given more weight.

Their “truth” doesn’t apply to me. If it’s THEIRS.
And just as I would never pick up someone else’s luggage at the airport,
I leave it where it sits.

So when they expect me to be the old me.
When they interact with me as though I am,
I remind myself that I’m not and feel no pressure to prove or clarify.

The truth doesn’t change because someone said it does. At least not the kind that sets me free.

Don’t you want to be free?

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