i meet their gazes, one by one. they are afraid to look me in the eye because i am crying. i’m not a pretty crier, if such a thing exists. my eyes get huge and red and swollen, i can’t speak clearly and my mouth makes an odd contorted shape as i try to squeak out my thoughts anyway.
brené brown says there is magic in vulnerability.
i didn’t really believe her. when i meet the gazes of the strongest survivors i know and told them we were growing because the opposite of growing is dying, that i couldn’t let the darkness win, they each surrendered. all their defenses melted away.
they cried too. after so many years of the darkness beating at their windows and doors, demanding they keep quiet, it is hard to imagine a place where the darkness wouldn’t win. while their homelands and family members are ripped apart by terrorists and people who have lost complete touch with even the most basic tenets of humanity, they sit empty handed waiting, not believing anything matters.
but the light is winning, in their little studio, their creativity is marching forward, boldly into the place where their past traumas become transformed into compelling compassion and wisdom. they are women of substance and they are dreaming.
and i am the chief among fools to have the privilege of dreaming alongside of them.