It’s not that I want to pretend when I see you today, I just want to hide.
I would rather hide than open myself to you. When I feel overwhelmed, deflated and defeated as I do right now, I have no desire to write or engage or do any sort of active loving. I just want to sit quietly by the fire, consume comfort and contain the storm within.
Last night my sister and I spent an hour in a text conversation. Think we’re crazy? Lazy? Disconnected? Sometimes texting is as close as I want to come to emerging from my hiding place. She wanted me to open the door.
The truth is, my door opens wider in writing where there is one point of engagement: words. Talking on the phone requires that I say words as well as speak them in the appropriate tone. Add a third dimension of body language and I’m sure to let my cold front move in on you.
I don’t want to do that, so I’m going to hide. If you’re in my presence, I’ll hide behind my genuine desire to care for you, knowing that what’s inside of me is best left for me to deal with on my own. Maybe I’ll draw the shades, but I won’t be opening any doors when we’re together.
Unless you are safe.
Unless you don’t compare yourself to me.
Unless you are unafraid of the strength of my emotion.
Unless you are un-intimidated by the tangled web of my thoughts.
Unless you are willing to walk directly to the eye of my storm and invite me to open it wider.
Maybe then I will open my door.
But you’ll have to knock first.