the twilight of a good girl

The good girl knew too much about meeting others’ expectations and swallowing her own needs and feelings. If kindness had been a paid profession, she would have been a wealthy girl from an early age. She knew little else—only how to be good.

But growing into adulthood, she found the key to locked cupboards where forgotten feelings and unspoken needs had been stuffed away. They could have easily crushed her beneath their weight. Taking stock was necessary, and the inventory was revisited, piece by piece, over the years.

The woman who uncovered the shadows of her childhood had to navigate them carefully. She had believed that being good had protected her from her own darkness. But instead of the mature softness she sought, she met something else in the shadows—a rigid, unyielding force demanding justice. Cold indifference introduced itself as both rightful and necessary, a teacher in the art of self-defense.

It was all too easy to swing from one extreme to another. The boxing gloves fit her hands with unsettling ease, and she took up the fight—not just for herself, but for the little girl she had once been. Opponents were pulled into the ring—some even from among her own. But one day, she caught sight of her reflection, and the stare that met her was empty—hardness without beauty.

A woman was not meant to be hardened to the point of breaking, a ruthless enforcer, or a fierce and fragile fighter. She was created to be soft yet unbreakable, a keeper of tender love, resilient in spirit.

So, she stepped away from the mirror and sought the father. Her heart as hard and lifeless as stone, she placed in his hands. His breath wove unseen threads, awakening what had turned to stone.

She felt the restoring of her sensitivity, the beauty, the tenderness which was woven into her from the very beginning.

Not long after, she was seen tending spring plantings, a small girl by her side. Under the guidance of the gentle gardener, they weeded out both excessive kindness and icy hardness, pulling them from the soil one by one.

Their labor bore fruit. As summer neared, the seedlings of love stretched their soft stems toward the sun, opening their buds into a sea of radiant bloom.