I M Perfect lady

I had a feeling yesterday that clicked firmly into place; how I see myself, and how others may, see me as well.

I would rather be hated for speaking the truth, than to be liked for speaking lies.

It is okay if they hate me, for not wanting to hear the truth.  

I would rather that, then for them to hate me for telling lies. 

If they don't like me it is okay…but the main focus for me is to always live as truthfully as I can. To always say what feels uncomfortable at the time, than to shy away from the truth.  

It is best to live on the crisp edge of honesty and be hated for it, than to be 'liked' for stepping back from the harsh truth of reality…and be liked for being 'kind'.

I could see stretched before me my past as well as my future, and I knew that I would rather be standing here, than standing where I see my mother.

She didn't tell the truth and I hate her lies.

I hate that she wasn't honest with us.

I hate her for telling lies.

She gave me nothing to hold on to.  

She is like water in a clenched fist…

I saw myself standing as substance…as a solid… a solid one unmovable piece, something you could hold.  Even if I am unliked, there is something to me.  I have content, I am made of something.  I stand for something.

Truth is the content of who we are.  It is the fingerprint of your soul.

Lies are the pretend layer that floats above….the mask…that hides you.

I only knew my mother's mask. 

Truth reveals me…

Hate my truth.

Hate me…

It matters not.

I am comfortable without a mask.

My parents wore masks.

In the end, all I was left with, were their masks…the false life of lies.

I want my children to know me…and not a mask.

To even hate who I am, is better than living a life as a mask.

I would rather they not like the lady I am, than to be liked by wearing a mask.

I then thought, "who is my mother?"

Do you know, in the first few weeks, months okay, years of me seeing my mother's mask fall, I had the overwhelming sentiment of being the little bird who lost its mother….who went out to find her.  "Are you my mother?"

 I thought I was searching for my mother, when I was actually searching for me.

And, the old phrase that has haunted my journey, "I am lost, I am going to find myself, and I don't even know who I am?"

It seemed an impossible task; looking for someone I don't know.

But, now I can see how I found myself.  One truth at a time. 

I re-built me.

By never ducking behind a mask, instead by standing out, fearlessly, being me.

Hating me for my truth is way okay with me…it is better than finding out I am full of lies.

I woke up at 46 to a life of a mask.

I am now 54, and 8 years old. 

I find me when I say my truth.