Dangerous Compassions


My overwhelming feeling is: all my hard work preparing is paying off.  All that scheduling, listmaking, delegating, asking for help.

Yesterday I told my friend–asking for help is a job in itself.  I messaged and emailed around fifteen people, just asking them to be building monitors at the UU church.  There was some back-and-forth.

“People think help magically appears.  That only happens in fairy tales,” I told Ming.  We were lying on mats in a nursery.  I was looking at the paintings on the walls, thinking of a witch who would appear in disguise, or those ants who sorted something overnight for a worthy girl.

There was a thing telling the kids to vote.  I thought that was weird because they have to wait a decade.

Also, I realized that in previous years, I would feel guilty for hiding out.  I would force myself to be social when I needed to be alone, which would have really bad consequences for me. 

Now I know how to take care of myself and honor who I am.  I still feel guilty, but that doesn’t stop me, now.

It’s hard having my behavior misinterpreted.  Yesterday morning a lady jacked up on speed or coffee or having a manic episode maybe saw me standing outside by the door, just thinking.  She called my name and asked, “Are you ok?” in a way that felt weird. 

I said, “It’s ok, not to be ok.”

It’s hard for me to act normal–people always want others to act normal.  And I can’t be social for very long.  People think I’m lazy or conceited or whatever they think.  Who really cares.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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