How is it that a strong woman
Feels vulnerable like a child?
Scared, alone, unsure, adrift
How can one endure so much
And still doubt?
Divine light one day,
Childlike insecurities the next.
Tears flow down my cheek,
Carrying the words of my inner child.
Dripping onto my chest,
Flowing down between my breasts,
My 37-year-old breasts
That once gave sustenance
To my own daughter.
How is it that a grown woman,
Feels more vulnerable than her own daughter?
What is this trick of the mind,
This internal struggle that causes
My heart to sink and eyes to fill with tears?
That causes me to both yearn for reassurance
And pretend I am invincible?
What is my inner child saying to me today?
“Be gentle, my dear.
Be not hasty.
Allow those childish thoughts
To flow out through your tears,
Allow absolute vulnerability.
Release all your doubts.
Cry! Sob! Let your breasts heave and shudder
With the realization of the magnitude of your fears.
Cry until there is stillness,
Until you again feel the warm sun on your tear-streaked cheek, and the summer breeze runs its delicate fingers through your hair.
Then rise gently, reborn.”