What I see

Do you remember how you used to hold my hand? It felt like you would never let go.
You would look at me with such love in your eyes, like you would fight lions for me. Fight tigers.

The world could fade away and disappear when you held me in your arms. When my head rested on your heart, my world would narrow to just that slow, constant thump.

I miss you.

I hate fighting with you.

It feels like a piece of me is shattering every time we do.

It hurts me that you think I'm fat and unattractive. We've both grown older in the 14 years since we met. Our bodies are not those of children anymore. I've had a child and that leaves its mark. I've lost a child and that's left its mark as well. We've been through a lot, you and I. Depression has caused both of us to pick up and lose weight at various times.

I love you.

You're not the skinny, quiet, depressed boy I met. You've grown in confidence even as you've grown in height and weight. And you've grown as person into a man that I respect.

Attraction comes in many forms. I am attracted to the wonderful father that you are. I am attracted to the caring husband you are. And I'm attracted to the wonderful son that you are to my parents and yours. When I look at you, that's who I see.

I don't see the belly hanging over your belt. I see the giggles that belly inspired in our child when she tickles you. I see the strength in your arms as you lift her up to swing her about. I see that same strength that you use to give me back and foot rubs when I am in pain. And I see the comfort you inspire when wrap your arms around me and tell me that everything is going to be okay.

Why can't you see me and be attracted to me and not be distracted by bulges and love handles?

Stolen post from The Quiet Revolution

I read today a post by Sam Rose over at The Quiet Revolution that really resonated with me. Although she is a self-proclaimed Ambivert and I am an Introvert, the topics she talks about strike very close to home. I have copied the post here below for ease of reading, but please go over to the link above to post comments. Please note that these are not my words even though the feelings described are very much like me.

An open letter to everyone who has ever made me feel like there is something wrong with me—unintentionally or otherwise.I am an ambivert. This means I have characteristics of both an introvert and an extrovert. There are one or two parts of being an introvert that I don’t think apply to me, but overall that’s the description that fits me best. I’m more than happy to spend time by myself and would rather stay at home and binge-watch a TV show or write than go out and socialize with people I’m not close friends with. While others seem to have no problem chatting away in new social situations, I get nervous about meeting new people. Small talk is difficult, and it’s even harder to do in large groups of people or with people I don’t know very well. Speaking up in class or giving presentations at school made me feel sick to my stomach.But all my life, I have felt like being quiet and introverted is a bad thing. If anyone ever described me as quiet or shy, I felt like there was something wrong with me. Those words seem to come with negative connotations, like it’s something to be ashamed of or like I’m only half a person.However, after 27 years, it’s pretty much ingrained in me now: I am Quiet.And some people think it is a bad thing. But it’s not okay to feel that other people see a big part of your personality as defective.So, on behalf of myself and everyone else who has ever felt put down or as if there’s something wrong with them, I ask you to do (or rather, not do) three things:1. Please don’t make assumptions about me. People think they know something about me. They think they can make assumptions about my personality and things I will or will not do, or even things I can or cannot do. A friend once said to me, “You couldn’t stand up and talk in front of a crowd; you’re too scared to even make a phone call at work.” Not true at all and pretty belittling. I just sometimes worry about calling people regarding a subject I’m not very familiar with. If I have to talk about something I know inside out, it’s fine.Someone else once commented, “I don’t blame you for not chatting to people; most people aren’t worth bothering with anyway.” Which just made me sound like I’m not friendly or that I don’t like anyone, and that’s not true either. I’m sure as a result of these assumptions, some people think I don’t have confidence. I may lack confidence in some social situations, but I actually have always had a bit of an ego. I love myself. I pride myself on being different and doing what I want to do without worrying about what people think of me. My quietness is not a reflection of my confidence.2. Please don’t comment on my quietness. I hate it when someone comments on how quiet I am, especially in front of other people. I can’t put into words how low and humiliated I feel. I can’t stand being called on to contribute to a conversation that I’m happy to just be listening to, especially in groups of people I don’t know very well. It feels the same as it did when I got picked on to give an answer in class.This is my personality. It’s just the way I am, and it hurts me a lot when people comment on it like it’s a flaw. I can be loud at home and with friends, but I can’t be loud on command, no matter where I am. And why do people never comment on extroverts in this way? “You’re very outspoken, aren’t you?” “Are you always this loud?”3. Please don’t make me explain myself. Questions such as “do you ever talk?” or “are you always this quiet?” are not okay to ask—they make me feel about two inches tall. What on earth is a person supposed to say to that anyway? No, I’m not always this quiet, but you commenting on it in front of everyone is guaranteed to make it ten times worse. And being told that I need talk or that I need to come out of my shell is not going to help. I don’t have a shell to come out of. I am just fine. Maybe I just don’t feel like talking. Maybe I just feel happier if someone else starts the conversation.I am not unfriendly, and it’s not that I don’t want to chat—I’m more than happy to. But I’m not happy having to explain myself just because I’m “quiet” or a little “introverted.” Extroverts don’t have to explain themselves, so why do I? People think that being this way is not normal; it’s seen as wrong or something that needs to be fixed. But I don’t need to be fixed.People are the way they are. If everyone was the same, life would be boring (and nobody would be able to get a word in). And surely—despite their insensitive remarks—everyone knows that being quiet isn’t a bad thing, right? After a lifetime of being made to feel otherwise, I might need some convincing.