When I look at men in distress, I see my little brother (often referred to as my son) in their faces. It hurts. I want nothing more than to make it okay for them. I immediately look for words to say and things to do that would assuage their emotional turmoil. My heart is drawn to them. My mind is consumed with their problems.
I am not a guardian angel. I am not sperwoman. I am not able to be in more places than one. I am not a fairy godmother. I’m just a girl. A regular twenty year old girl. I have way more problems—most of which I have created—than I can handle. I’m in a constant state of brokenness (Akhilanda). Being strong all day is tiring. Smiling because I’m expected to is torturous.
I know that I can do anything. I also know that I cannot do everything. But when I see men that I love in distress, I see my little brother and I want to fix it. My daddy. My ex. My best friend an ocean away. My OtherHalf in Los Angeles. My brothers I found in college. All of those that lie in my heart.
Riv said women break and glue and move on every day, and we do. I’m running out of glue, though. I’ve been too busy using it on others. What happens when I run out?
Who’s going to make everything okay for me?
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