Healing happened when I stopped responding to harsh storms by hardening.

Healing happened when I stopped responding to harsh storms by hardening. By boarding up the windows and sharpening my edges. By burnishing an exterior convincing enough that few thought to inquire within. (Not that I’d let them).

Healing happened when I allowed the Earth’s shifting plates to crack my crust. When I let rain wash away facades of happiness to expose high functioning despair. When I let bitter winds erode angry defenses to expose a vulnerable heart, whose identity was built on a belief of unlovability.

Healing happened when I acknowledged my hunger, and asked others to share their bread. It happened when I allowed myself to reach for outstretched hands.

Healing did not happen because I was tough, or because I fought. Healing happened because I allowed myself to be tender, because I softened.