When I meet new people, they usually appear one of two ways to me.
The first is the green, wide-eyed, and optimistic type. They have all of the warmth and energy of one who has never felt a soul-crushing pain before, and the world is their oyster. I absolutely love these people, because they show me things that I normally would overlook, whether that’s the simple funny shaped cloud in the sky, or it’s how to laugh when the rain starts pouring right after you took an hour and a half to style your hair. (I still cannot laugh when this happens. My hair is a constant source of frustration.)
Then, there’s the ones that I gravitate towards. The broken ones. The ones who, when you talk to them for the first time, really listen to your words, but might take awhile to crack themselves. They look for more than what you’re saying, because they know what it feels like to hurt and not be able to talk about it. Their hurt might as well be tattooed on their soul, because even if it’s not affecting them at that moment, you just *know* that their burden was heavy at one time, and that they’d understand your burden if you ever needed someone to talk to about it.
These two types of souls are both so beautiful in their own way.
I’ve been reading “Eat Pray Love” over the last few months, just as the literary equivalent of “Easy Listening” as I go to bed. Last night, I came across a phrase in Italian that was so beautiful, I couldn’t help but stop and reread the whole passage it was in.
The phrase is “L’ho provato sulla mia pelle“, which is sort of like the American “I’ve been there”. A direct translation is “I have experienced this on my own skin”, referencing the battle wounds and scars we have from past experiences.
I wish that, in a way, we could all have visible battle scars. I wish that I could see the women who are struggling with PCOS, so that we could nod to each other in support. I wish that I could see people with a tattoo of a broken heart, and know that they’ve experienced loss, and that I could touch their hand, and let them know that they’re not alone. I wish I could reach out to hurting people, and give them a hug, a kind word, or whatever they need in their stage of healing.
In a nutshell: I wish I could bake cupcakes for the world.
I am scarred and wounded, but that’s what makes me who I am. My soul grows more warm, empathetic, and understanding with each trial, and if I can give comfort to someone else while they have open wounds, maybe their wounds will heal more cleanly. More than that, I have a beautiful group of friends and family who are one, both, or a mixture of the two types of people I described above that awaken my soul and rescue me when I feel like I’m treading water.
Oh, and even though I can’t feasibly make cupcakes for the ENTIRE world, I can make them for the people who are very dear to me when they’re hurting or to show them I love them. The people I love the most are, in no particular order:
Spaghetti and Meatballs
Crock Pot Enchiladas
As an awesome follow-up to my last post, I got a call from my MD’s office with my referral. This guy is a teacher at Vanderbilt Medical School, and a dual-certified Reproductive Endocrinologist and OB/GYN. I have an appointment next month…. And I’m hoping for the best.