​40. This Little Me

What’s the best way to put this?

I love people, and I’m a little afraid of them too.

I often wonder where this fear comes from. If it’s more of my own insecurities that knit together into human form and wear me like a coat.

If a stranger’s possible disappointment in me keeps me at arm’s length until I’m buttoned up chin high.

For other people, it seems so simple. They can sliver themselves and offer it piece by piece without ever growing weary. Their voices don’t go too high and they never just pause mid-sentence, the last syllable diving head first to the floor.

I’m a watcher by nature. I see how other people interact, and I’ve become a darn good mimic.

I can cleave off a part of me with the best of them.

But then there’s this voice. “Imposter,” it says. “Are you truly smiling because your heart is happy or because you’re working your facial muscles sore?” “Are you nodding because you agree or because there’s no other possible way to move your head?”

Holy Spirit. People talk about God and Jesus, and I do too. But the imperceptible part of me, that slow soft speaking that waters down that nasty voice in my head. That? That is the Spirit overriding my heart.

It grows fingers. It takes me apart, starting at the chin and unbuttons me all the way down until I am nothing but this little bit.

This little me.

Talking to you.