The Door

When I was young, in our house we didn't show affection openly; we didn't say goodnight or good morning and we never once expressed our love for each other verbally. Don't get me wrong, there was love and we never wanted for anything, it was just not expressed in that way. It was how my parents' generation did it, I guess. Back in those days the front door was never locked, you could come and go as you pleased, and others were welcomed. Even although everything was never as it appeared, the door was always open. 

There have been many times in my life my private persona couldn't have been more distant from my public one. Times when I really struggled, I couldn't speak to anyone, I couldn't express how low I was. Sleepless nights, breathless panic, an oppressive feeling of nothing going right, of hopelessness, of failure. All hidden away. Inside me. In my room. Behind a closed door. 

Now I'm older, I still struggle to articulate what's inside to those I love and that love me. Something holds it back. That distance between private and public persona still exists but the gap narrows. The very fact that this will surprise people will shed light on that little doubt that exists in us all. I'm learning now. Every day. I'm open to talking. I'm ready to accept what lies ahead. I should have let you know my love. It's not too late. I've decided to embrace the light and treasure the positives. 

And the love. And the pain. 

I'm going to open the door.