I have often covered up—-hidden behind layers.
Perhaps it started when I was maybe 5 and one of my grandmothers held my arm and commented, “My goodness, Kim. You have some hairy arms. Lots and lots of hair.”
From that moment on, when I visited her in Homestead, Florida, I wore long sleeves, even though it was always hot in her unair-conditioned house near the Keys.
I was willing to sweat and be uncomfortable rather than be reminded by her that I had hairy arms.
* * * * * *
I was in fifth grade, hearing the teachers tell us to sit “Indian style” or “criss-cross, applesauce” on the floor, and although I just couldn’t find that position comfortable at all, I sat that way just long enough to get past the teachers’ attention before I flipped my legs opposite—in a weird W shape-–because that was the only way I could sit long.
I was willing to be uncomfortable just to appear to sit like everyone else.
* * * * * * * *
I was a teenager through young womanhood, hearing from the man I loved just how thin my arms were, like “bird wings,” the objects of jokes told to me and to others.
Those comments from someone I loved kept me in sleeved shirts for over a decade, even though I lived in Florida. Sleeveless shirts were not an option.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I guess it is easy to see that I did a lot of things to hide my physical awkwardness, my physical features, my different way of seeing the world, and my unique way of handling situations.
I was never normal.
I knew that without a doubt.
I sat weird, I read grade levels above my peers, I was a perfectionist, I was a little adult, and I was left-handed.
I didn’t react like others, and I always felt socially inept.
I always felt a bit like an outsider. I guess I sort of still do.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
One of the gifts given to me this past year was a diagnosis of neurodivergence.
What makes this label a gift?
I finally have the realization that, YES, I am different. However, I am beginning to be proud of this.
Proud that this neurodivergence leads to raw transparency, to a desire to fight for justice, to a huge heart, and to the ability to think in very divergent ways. I see patterns, and I often can predict possible outcomes before others.
This atypical brain wiring has led to my success at work—and honestly, some of my difficulties.
It has also led to some of my dearest relationships—and honestly, has also probably led to the end of dozens and dozens of others.
I fight like a bear for those I love, and for the first time, I am learning to fight like a bear for someone else important to me—ME.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
So, this is just a warning.
I am stripping off layers.
Perhaps not down to my skivvies at a strip bar, but the layers are coming off.
I plan to hide nothing.
I am shedding all the coverings most of us hide beneath.
My hairy arms will be bared.
My skinny arms and W-sitting position will be my norm.
No more quiet walking in “clothes” that cover me from head to toe.
I plan to show off my wrinkles, stretch marks, and cellulite.
I plan to expose my heart, my weaknesses, and my mental and emotional challenges.
I plan to share my desires, my dreams, and my passions—
And even my quirks, eccentricities, frustrations, and fears.
No more pretending.
Anyone I trust will see
My beating heart,
My brain’s cycling and cycling,
My blood’s passion,
My loves.
I will not stroll along.
I plan to run through life as only streakers do.
Without fear of judgment,
Wind ruffling my hair,
Running free of the worries of what others will think.
And in this new transparent state
I run free,
Completely bare,
Arms spread open,
A smile fully expressed.
No shame.
No holding back.
No hiding.
No weight holding me down.
Me.
Only me.
