jellyfish

when I was 18

my mentor told me I didn’t have a backbone yet

but he hoped I would someday.

I thought that meant I was spineless.

I thought that meant I was a jellyfish.

I thought that meant I couldn’t stand up to anyone

for anyone.

but he really meant there was a difference

between easy-going and a doormat.

he meant he hoped I could get over the guilt of “should be”

to experience the power of “am”,

to acknowledge my character without apologizing.

I am 27.

nine years later, 

and I thought I had a backbone, finally,

but the love of my life

sees my heart riddled with the spikes

of “should”—

I should be stronger

I shouldn’t cry so often

I should focus my emotional energy elsewhere—

and he doesn’t understand.

he says,

“you are big love and big care.”

“if you had been raised to believe strong people cry,

you would know you are mighty.”

“just because you’re good at helping others, doesn’t mean you’re great at helping yourself.”

“there are so many shoulds buried in your heart.”

“God gave you your character and he’s not apologizing

so why are you?”

and I don’t know the answer.