The Ego Speaks

Stephanie, I love you and I know that you’re trying.  

I beat up on you pretty hard a few moments ago because I was scared for you.  

I now know that what I was really feeling was love for you.  

I was hoping for your highest good to manifest in all areas of your life.  

I was scared because I thought about your mom’s unexpected passing.  

I couldn’t imagine what I would do if something like that were to ever happen to you. To us.

I must commend you for being brave.  

Though you didn’t know exactly what the feedback was going to be, you were certain to expect to hear something that later turned out to be helpful.  

We both knew.  

But we showed up anyway.  Scared and flawed as we were; we showed up anyway today.  

We attempted to be brave as we sat in a room that has seen people at the their best and at their worst…partially undressed. How apropos?

We sat there in a stripped-down version of ourselves with not so much as having the safety net of our red lipstick to distract attention away from what was.  

We received the information we needed to make us better.  Yet I chose to focus on the negative.  I needed to assign blame for us being here. I needed to blame someone because the tactics didn’t allow us to hide.  

Stephanie needs help sometimes.

And it is okay. Yet, I’m not okay with us needing help.

I think it makes us seem weak.

As if we don’t have our stuff together.

In a world of mere mortals…even still, we are supposed to know better and do it.

Our secret is out.

We have been exposed:

We are regular like everyone else.  

We are human.  

Like everyone else.

I didn’t know how to be okay with that.  So, I refused to let you.

I needed someone to blame for exposing us. For seeing us.

No one is supposed to see us.  

We are supposed to be the wise one.  

We are supposed to be able to fix it. Everything.


Quietly, so as to not disturb the lives and fun of others.

People will come from all over to help us and come to our aid.  

Our gratitude would be arrested by embarrassment for needing to be saved.

For needing a modicum of anything that we give to others without judgement. Or is there?

The Sun is bright.  The rays hurt our eyes.  

We surrender into embraces; we quietly accept help.

We allow ourselves to be fully infallible. And human. Like everyone else.

We are now real.

We will be just fine.

All is well.