Yes – like fists, nails, legs and teeth (just kidding) – I never used my teeth.
I was nauseatingly and literally shoved into my first fight at the age of 12. I was cornered at my locker by an angry girl I had never met. Furious that I had the same shirt on as her. I was mortified and confused by her anger.
The. same. shirt.
I was the new shy nerdy girl at school. We had moved from Florida to “Viva Las Vegas” a couple years after the divorce. With my sisters all out of the house, she packed us up and we headed towards new opportunities and a fresh start. My mom desperately needing to get away from the scene of the crime.
That bitchy teen kicked my ass, hard. Her fists pulling back the curtains to reveal all the hurt hiding back stage inside me. My dad left Florida first, moving out of state and then out of the country. Moving as far away from her as he could, and far away from me.
As I sat in the principal’s office covered in tears and embarrassment, I recall the sensation of my own new found anger beginning to form just under the surface. A newborn chip taking shape on my shoulder, where it would stand guard over me for many years. I learned quickly how to defend myself and how to not be friendly or trust anyone.
I was nauseatingly and literally shoved into my first fight at the age of 12. I was cornered at my locker by an angry girl I had never met. Furious that I had the same shirt on as her. I was mortified and confused by her anger.
The. same. shirt.
I was the new shy nerdy girl at school. We had moved from Florida to “Viva Las Vegas” a couple years after the divorce. With my sisters all out of the house, she packed us up and we headed towards new opportunities and a fresh start. My mom desperately needing to get away from the scene of the crime.
That bitchy teen kicked my ass, hard. Her fists pulling back the curtains to reveal all the hurt hiding back stage inside me. My dad left Florida first, moving out of state and then out of the country. Moving as far away from her as he could, and far away from me.
As I sat in the principal’s office covered in tears and embarrassment, I recall the sensation of my own new found anger beginning to form just under the surface. A newborn chip taking shape on my shoulder, where it would stand guard over me for many years. I learned quickly how to defend myself and how to not be friendly or trust anyone.
I got into a few more fights over the next several years after that. Some that I started and some just to defend myself. Using my fists to hide and grow numb, to yell and be heard, to cry without shedding tears.
Over time my fists grew tired and my yells grew to whispers as my heart slowly re-opened. I fought hard to get here. I’m still a fighter, just a different kind of fighter. I fight my old instinct to feel unloveable or unworthy. I fight not telling you to fuck off because you said that thing that you had no idea would trigger an old scar tucked way in the back of my soul.
I can still probably kick your ass but I’ve learned I’d rather hear your story and tell you mine, share a laugh or a smile. I fight every day to hear and be heard, to see and be seen, to understand and be understood, to heal and be healed. I fight to love and be loved and I’ve learned to use my hands to wipe away the tears I let flow.
Be gentle and kind with each other, for we are all fighting for what we need and nurturing the scars from what we didn’t.
I can still probably kick your ass but I’ve learned I’d rather hear your story and tell you mine, share a laugh or a smile. I fight every day to hear and be heard, to see and be seen, to understand and be understood, to heal and be healed. I fight to love and be loved and I’ve learned to use my hands to wipe away the tears I let flow.
Be gentle and kind with each other, for we are all fighting for what we need and nurturing the scars from what we didn’t.
“Anger is the fluid love bleeds when cut.” (C.S. Lewis)
