Why I Burned Those Bridges

A while ago I met a beautiful woman. She had a heart of gold as well, beneath her physical beauty. And, she also had a lot of pain. I quickly learned the relationship wasn’t safe as my words were frequently being filtered through her wounds.

She tried to like me but deep down she didn’t and I could feel that. My presence triggered her. Her smiles felt forced and her friendliness carried an air of insincerity. And she really did try to like me. I felt her effort.

One day she shared that she was really excited to get a fake tan but I couldn’t relate. I’m very pale and I’ve learned to like that about myself. I’ve never gotten into the tanning trend. I was a cigarette smoker from a young age. I smoked off and on for over 20 years. I had a bad inside joke with myself back then (and this really was a bad joke) that I could only willingly subject myself to one cancer at a time. Even after I quit smoking, I never got into tanning. Even now you’re much more likely to find me visiting a cemetery than a beach. I’ve learned to love my dark brown hair (with greying strands), green eyes, and skin that’s as pale as the moonlight, especially when I pair it all with a bold red lip stain. This woman looked more like a Hawaiian goddess. I was sharing that I couldn’t relate but her wounding heard my words as comparison.

One day she was struggling with depression. She shared with me that she hadn’t washed her hair in days. I was impressed. She was still showing up and getting out. When I was most unwell, I couldn’t do that. A part of my healing has been in overcoming *vanity (how others perceived me). For years I couldn’t leave my house without makeup on. It’s been a journey to let people see what I actually look like. But again, my compliment got filtered through a lens of pain. I felt it right away—the energy shift—and I tried to fix it but that only made things worse. Instead of saying “That hurt. I know you meant it as a compliment but it reminded me that I’m not looking so great right now,” she fawned.

In the end, I decided to burn the bridge between her and I, as I also did with several other women around that same time. It wasn’t because I didn’t like them, or because I didn’t respect the work they did, it was because I didn’t feel that was a mutual experience. I didn’t feel safe.

—

*On further reflection, I don’t think “vanity” was the correct term here. I was deeply insecure. Makeup, for me, was a mask I hid behind (I still feel more comfortable wearing it). It stemmed from a place of internal judgement, not conceit.

Thank you for your patience as I continue to learn about language. 🙏