Being Naked In My Skin

   You know that dream where you're standing in front of the classroom giving a speech? The one where everyone seems so engrossed in your presentation, oddly so. The one where everyone is staring at you in awe and you're feeling like a genius because you have managed to captivate an audience with your words. In the middle of your motivating speech about hydrology a plethora of ideas ebb and flow through your pubescent mind. You realize that no teenager really gives a crap about their water intake. That is, unless somehow drinking more water will get them laid. Who the hell has a low flush toilet? They cost like $2000 at Home Depot. And let's face it; no one really wants to focus on the aftermath of their poop. As reality sets in, those faces staring back at you - the ones that once seemed to beam with admiration - now evolve into odd smirks. Now, you're thinking who the hell let in all these Cheshire cats? Next, laughter erupts that is only slightly muted by the cool breeze caressing your exposed skin. Following the trail of goose bumps invading your flesh, you now realize you are completely naked. You're exposed. Exposed to judgment, exposed to truth, exposed to ridicule. Now what do you do?

   Well, you could run but then you would only crash into the wall that is your own insecurities. Wouldn't it just be awesome to stand in front of those laughing, pimpled-face, stinky jock wearing, my only accolade in life will be that I dated the quarterback, jerks and just smile? Maybe you could even give them a twirl. Let them take in the fullness of your being. “Take a picture and frame it,” you’d say. What if you could just stand there and command their laughter, or their admiration, or whatever you wanted? What if it didn't even matter if you transformed one single laughter? What if all that matter was that you were being your authentic self? We are born naked, yet we spend so much time cloaking ourselves in the image of who we are expected to be that we forget to accept who we truly are. Perhaps, we even become afraid to know who that person is.

   For a long time I had been comfortable living in the skin I had created. Perhaps it was not my authentic self - posturing for the professional world and ignoring my emotional growth - but, hell I didn't know I was behaving like a pod person, so what was the harm. As is the natural progression of life, I'm evolving. This evolution has required me to perform some heavy-duty self-evaluation. Thus far I have discovered two things to be true about myself. I, to some extent, am emotionally stunted. While I am very mature, with the exception of occasional karaoke nights, I struggle with being emotionally available to others. I don't get why one of my twins will cry at the slightest hint of reprimand. Hugging can be an uncomfortable experience for me. Saying I love you, is even more awkward. I guess the West Indian in me would have me believe that just being around, busting my butt at work to provide, coming home nightly, should be enough to show the love. Why should I have to say it or display this love with affection? Simple answer, it is what the people around me need. So I am choosing to make a conscious effort to work and improve my emotional deficit.

    The other thing I have discovered is that I am so afraid to become like my mother. She was strong in so many ways. So strong, that even while in hospice dying from breast cancer, a naive part of me believed she was going to be OK. I mean how could she not be OK? She was always OK, even when she was not. My mother was so good at hiding herself that I didn't even realize she went completely blind before she died. She would rather have me believe that she was just having another one of her drug-induced dopiness, than to know that she could not see me. She never wanted her children to worry. I loved that about her, her desire to always protect her children even if she didn't always know the best way to do such.

    As much as I will always love and admire my mother, I am deathly afraid of having a life like the one she had. Her life revolved solely around the needs of her children to the hindrance of achieving her own goals. I am afraid of having a marriage like the one she had with my father. A marriage full of infidelity, lies, and two individuals who did not know how to communicate without yelling, anger, and at times blood shed. I am afraid of never being able to show the level of affection that my husband seems to show so effortlessly. I don't know how too. I mean I get it in theory and even in practice, but it's not comfortable and I'm scared it will never be. I'm afraid I will never feel loved, something my mother often complained about. I'm afraid that, like my mother, I will never achieve my creative goals. I'm afraid that I will not be able to provide the life that I know my children deserve to have.

    Fear is natural, but I will not allow my fears to be debilitating. I cannot allow them to be. I have people that I love depending on me to face and overcome my fears. I think, the first step is acknowledging the fears that exist. Next would be figuring out how these fears impact your life. What I'm still trying to figure out is how to conquer each one. I will overcome each fear though trial and error. There is no way for me to know what works for something that I haven't really attempted to work on.

    Eventually, I want to command the room naked. I want to say look at me. Look at every flaw, every roll every imperfection. Look at me and either like what you see or don't. Either way it's OK because I'm still standing here naked and I am comfortable being exposed, being naked in my own skin.