Dear Young You:
I was sitting here thinking about that lie we were told by the older men that had our ears, saying to us that “men don’t cry.” Boy! was that a horrible thing for our young minds to believe. And from that one lie, the internal dislike of self was born. I tell you it is a long journey to get to this place of understanding about self-hate. After years of deliberately creating ways of shutting down the ability to feel and learn how to process our emotions. This one lie that instructed us how to suppress natural human behavior — don’t cry — truly interrupted parts of our childhood developments.
Those choice you’ll make about right and wrong are linked to something that was untrue. Men do Cry. And sometimes even the truth, clouded by circumstances, will fall back to that lie: Men don’t cry. I have yet to discover all of what I will discover; however, I am now able to feel the freedom that comes with my tears.
I want you to know that even the smallest of lies or self-deceptions can (will) cause problems in the future. You will discover that your tears are really part of a strengthening dynamic. A way for you to reconnect to your body, mind, and spirit. Who knew that you would one day have the ability to name those things from your past that hushed you, while collecting the gems of wisdom and knowledge we buried. In time you will know those things that makes good sense.
That sense of being alone and not worth anything — unless Leroy or John or George said you were — will also pass. You’ll discover that your value is not conditioned on anyone’s opinion, outside of yourself.
That numbing of your hurt and pain with drugs, anger, violence will also be discarded as you learn how to talk and listen to those who care and have been where you’ve been.
My souvenirs from you many birthdays are seen and appreciated. You will come to terms with the harm you caused and the lives you’ve affected. The good and the bad are the pathways to true understanding. Being ready to stand and understand what I am doing to my family and self is a place of rest, if only for a moment. I wonder if you’ll see what I see now.
Without Wax,
Stressla Lynn