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Don’t Judge Me
Looking back, I suppose it was a sign of things to come, but this knowledge then wouldn’t have made me run. My fiery youth would still run off both anticipating grandmas, out of the delivery room, as they argued and demanded a Priest, no a Rabbi, come… save me from my doom.
Brushing that judgement aside, focusing instead on my anxious creation inside, I set a precedent of preferring to hide, but as the door was closing, “Don’t judge me”, I cried.
Spoiled tantrums I was told I was only feeding, my comfort now turning into a future needing, but the piercing screams of “crying it out” never did subside regardless of the advice I tried, so I concluded the well-meaning mothers had simply lied.
As my baby grew and his anxiety increased, I became creative with how I would hold him. Protecting and comforting him by restraining his limbs, with mine all intertwined, rolling along the floor. A wrestling match between him and I, in his struggle to be free. But it was the only way I knew to keep us both safe, so “Don’t judge me”, I’d plea.
I thought nothing of it at first, when my razor began to disappear, followed by his skin under layers of dark cloth, concealing his attempts to control his pain now forever etched upon his limbs, a scarlet letter he can never take off, a premonition for him.
After confiding his truth to me one night, so many years after watching him struggle, such relief and hope I felt seeing him finally free and just so you know, I’ll have unwavering acceptance and support for him, so “Don’t judge me”.
© Buffy Lee
Brushing that judgement aside, focusing instead on my anxious creation inside, I set a precedent of preferring to hide, but as the door was closing, “Don’t judge me”, I cried.
Spoiled tantrums I was told I was only feeding, my comfort now turning into a future needing, but the piercing screams of “crying it out” never did subside regardless of the advice I tried, so I concluded the well-meaning mothers had simply lied.
As my baby grew and his anxiety increased, I became creative with how I would hold him. Protecting and comforting him by restraining his limbs, with mine all intertwined, rolling along the floor. A wrestling match between him and I, in his struggle to be free. But it was the only way I knew to keep us both safe, so “Don’t judge me”, I’d plea.
I thought nothing of it at first, when my razor began to disappear, followed by his skin under layers of dark cloth, concealing his attempts to control his pain now forever etched upon his limbs, a scarlet letter he can never take off, a premonition for him.
After confiding his truth to me one night, so many years after watching him struggle, such relief and hope I felt seeing him finally free and just so you know, I’ll have unwavering acceptance and support for him, so “Don’t judge me”.
© Buffy Lee
