The Relapse.

I’m not one for confrontations but yesterday I felt the need to address an issue right at its root. Firstly there was guilt, because somehow I’ve grown up being this girl who doesn’t question people in authority, no matter their actions.

It’s not a secret that I am dealing with a lot in my personal space and that I have decided to open up certain parts of my life to the public; but even so, I am still worth respect.

With this transition of overcoming the loss of my husband and everything else we’ve accumulated together, my behaviour and choice of doing things might seem questionable to others and maybe they are entitled to it.

So yesterday I had raised my hand to volunteer to be part of a women’s day panel. I would be representing the widowed. A very great phenomena in this circle I was in. and then a few minutes later they asked for two more volunteers. One of which would represent the divorced women.

Seeing that no one was raising their hand, I then decided to raise my hand for the second time. 

The response left me stunned. “You have already raised your hand, you can’t raise it twice…that’s it then, we don’t have any divorced ladies in the house”, this was followed by stares to see who was this greedy person. I felt so ashamed. I got up at the end of the meeting and left. On my way home all I could think about was the humiliation I had just received. Anxiety kinda does that, it will replay one hurtful thing over and over until to cut the cord and that’s exactly what I did.

I got home and sent this lady who rejected my contribution a voice message – just so she could hear my tone and not misinterpret it in a text. In the voice note I mentioned a few factors that I hope today they’ll be of value to her and of course that I was withdrawing y first seat as a panellist representing the widowed.

Being both a divorcee and a widow are my realities, harsh realities that have left me without a husband. Beyond that, I know there’s a woman who’s just found herself in such a circumstance as mine, surely her hearing me speak would have encouraged her, but unfortunately we have gate keepers.

Gate keepers who because of their full barns, keep watch at the gates that the starved are trying to get in to, in hopes of finding some bread crumbs to pick and eat just to stay alive long enough until their needs for food are fully met. Those of us who have the food can’t reach them because of the gate keepers who ridicule our attempt to do so while blocking us – because of course, their barns are full. The gate keepers barns are full, they have need for nothing.