After more than 30 years, I was still trying to be my daddy’s "big girl", but finally, I just couldn’t do it anymore. And I cried. Crying scared me. But more than the tears, it was what I cried about that was so shocking.
Someone parked next to me at work. I was angry. And I cried. My therapist said, “Your box is full”. “What box"? I asked, wondering which one of us was the crazy one. “You’ve been stuffing your feelings in a box for years. And now, there is no more room”. As it turns out, secrets grow larger in the dark. I was taught that crying was a sign of weakness and that "big girls" do not cry. So, what do "big girls" do when they’re hurt or sad? I pushed my pain down and tried to forget about it.
The thing is, secrets don’t die. They fester, but instead of rotting and decaying into nothingness, they rot (and stink), and grow so that they actually weigh more than they did going in. One day I was at work, and my festered hurts flew out of my eyes, onto my face, down my cheeks, across my belly, onto my lap, and slid into my shoes, causing me to stumble and fall. And when I tried to get up, I realized I was carrying the weight of my world in my shoes.
I slumped and slouched and moaned and groaned and even tried to run, but wherever I went, the weight was with me. Until finally, I surrendered and let go of the secrets. It was ugly. It stank. It hurt. It was sad. But then I was free. Finally, I could begin to live the life God intended for me - an abundant life.