"I'm not allowed to cry," she said...and my heart splintered.
Her face remained unchanged, still as stone save for the crocodile tears sliding down her cheeks.
In and out of the system. Here and there and a little bit of everywhere - perpetual storm dotted with calm...how do you grow like that?
She was a girl becoming a woman without a woman to show her how. The most tender days of adolescence blooming in a house completely unprepared for what that means.
"I'm not allowed to cry," was more than a statement of fact, it was the crushing admission that they don't see me, they don't understand me.
How do you bloom in dry ground? This girl-becoming-woman needed touch, needed tears, needed reassurance that this is fine, this is normal, you are beautiful, you are loved.
Here I stand, woman-still-girl, looking at girl-becoming-woman...both still growing, feeling, changing. I granted her permission to cry - her tears will soften the ground in which she will grow...strong, brave, her.