Invisibility Cloak

A safe place to hide

I’ve been wearing an invisibility cloak for a long time.

I didn’t know I put it on but after a few years I came to rely on its protection.

A few months ago, with the start of this blog, I began the process of shedding my precious cloak.

I wish I could say it came off in one dramatic swoop, but it’s been slow.

One toe, one fingertip, one eyelash at a time.

I didn’t want you to see me.

Don’t take it personally; I didn’t want anyone to see me. If you knew who I really was under here you might not like it. From under the protection of the cloak I don’t care if you like me because what you’re getting isn’t really me. It’s just a reflection, a surface image meant to hide what’s really inside.

From here I’m just another fat girl. No one really looks at us. You don’t notice when my clothes don’t fit right, or if I sneak up for seconds at the buffet--and if you do, you shrug and say, “Of course, she’s fat.”

I don’t have to smile at the cashier, or wave hello to the person I vaguely recognize down the department store aisle. No one expects me to sign up for committees, care about the environment, comb my hair, or chime into that group text. No one thinks I’ll do great things so I’ll never disappoint them if I don’t.  I am anonymous. I am a ghost.

I am invisible. And it’s how I’ve survived.

The scariest part about starting a blog was knowing—if it was going to tell the truth—I would have to finally shed the cloak. Not just the weight that has kept me hidden, but every protection mechanism I’ve garnered since childhood when the need to protect myself from things I couldn’t control emerged. What I found cowering beneath the layers was the same terrified little girl that went into hiding in the first place. She’s just a kid looking for safety and acceptance, but is so afraid she won’t find it that she destroys her outer shell so she’ll be too damaged venture out into an unforgiving world. Hunkered amid piles of chicken strips and pizza, where she can quietly drown in her compulsions without anyone noticing, is like being among old, non-judgmental friends. They are her saviors.

In a recent meditation I found that scared, stubborn child sitting in the dark. I knew if I didn’t show her there was nothing to be afraid of she’d continue to hide, and her protective methods would never cease. I’d never be free. Lately she’s been rebelling. As if she senses a new phase of life is beginning she clings to the past and all things familiar, and desperately seeks to stay hidden where nothing changes. I can’t let her do that this time.

Writing a blog is shedding the cloak. Speaking my truth—to myself and everyone else—reveals an ankle. Facing myself in the mirror, even when it hurts, reveals a wrist. Staying present with whatever comes loosens the fabric from around my neck. Taking my power back, respecting my body and soul, and confronting my fears pulls the hood off my face.

Forgiving the small child inside for her incessant control is stepping from the shadows and into the light. I can’t hide anymore, from myself or anyone else. Time to see who’s really in there.