Seven Years Old

The seven year old and I are holding hands today, tomorrow, and for the rest of our lives. She’s a part of me yet she’s smaller and shy. She’s wanting to hold hands with someone like me. A gentle hand to hold, someone to hug, and a person who will encourage her to be uncomfortable.

I’m not sure when the seven year old and me became friends. Actually, I think somewhere along the lines I adopted her traits. The ones I often times see as a weakness. My heart beats faster than I think is. The blood is pushed out to my body by my heart with urgency. You will pass out if they call your name and ask you to speak. Don’t raise your hand. Maybe raise it. Actually I don’t want to. She is reminding me of what it felt like to feel like when I had no control over my actions. What it was like not to know that it wasn’t always going to be this way- that I could change.

I’m un-adopting the traits. I chose to be uncomfortable, to be honest, to settle into the racing heart. I won’t be shy because I think what I have to say might be silly.

She and I will hold hands. I’ll notice when she’s squeezing mine. Do you feel this? Can we dwell? Can we stay here? No we can’t. We can’t. I’ll guide you and hold your hand but we’re going to speak our mind. We’re going to be bold. We’re going to honor us.

The seven year old and I are holding hands today, tomorrow and for the rest of my life.