The Storm

There was always a storm.

When I was younger I ran and hid under the covers. Thunder cackled at my fear, shaking up my world. Everything was bigger than I was. All of the pain and sadness - there was nothing I could do but cower until it had lightened up just enough to be bearable.

The storms would shift and change. The wind of disagreements and rules used to rattle my bones. Then it took hurricanes; gut-wrenching turmoil with the loss of those I loved and of love itself. However strong a fight I put up, the storms seemed stronger. Running or hiding were all I could think to do.

Until I stopped.

I grew tired of trying to escape. I lay there, curled up as the wind howeled and the hail pelted my thickened skin. As awful as it was, I became at peace with the pain. The storms were never going to leave; never going to let me go. That was okay. I had to accept this as part of who I was, what life is.

I began to pick myself up.

The storm was there. I saw it watching me. It was beautiful; the magnificent clouds churning up into the sky, the dark blue underbelly occationally shattered with bolts of bright light, the sunlight coming through and illuminating the my fears and hardships.

I knew it would always remain. It was a constant threat, but I was no longer afraid. In that moment, I realized how my struggles, though trying, were what created my strength. My worth. Life was a war full of battles; some I won, some I lost. The losses did not define me, but shaped who I was. Seeing the beauty in this made me feel free in a way I had never felt before.

It was happiness.