Shedding a burka

I stared at the word “hiding” that I had just written on one of the girls intake notes form and felt the overwhelming urge to scribble it out.  I picked up my pen to do just that and then stopped.  No, she was hiding.  She was clothing herself in this fake identity like a burka, allowing her body to fade into a black abyss.

For her, it manifested in loud laughter, belting songs, and ridiculous dance moves.  In fact this is how she greeted me after her eating disorder meeting was over tonight.

I smiled at her antics and asked about her day, and she responded with an enthusiastic, “I had a f’n fabulous day.”   While I wanted to believe her, I could see pain in her core.  I could see sorrow, frustration, and anger seeping through the eyes that were peering at me from the gap in the black hood.

Since I am a housemom at an eating disorder home, all of these girls are in pain some way or another, which is then exhibited in unhealthy eating behaviors, distorted body images, and low self-esteem.   While they desperately want to heal, they continually gravitate towards anything- smoking, cursing, cutting- in order to prevent the pain or, at best, keep it at bay.

Hiding.  I decided to keep the word in the notes.  Why did I think she was hiding?  I’m not a therapist.  I haven’t been trained.  I am not equipped to read between the lines of someone’s behavior.  I could have continued this rant for awhile, but my thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Coming,” I said.  I opened the door, and there she stood.

“Can I talk to you?”

And with those five words, I knew she had indeed been hiding.  For some reason, she had decided that her burka had become too heavy, too hot to wear alone.  So for 30 minutes, I stared into her eyes and helped her lift just a small portion of the hood in order to unveil her beautiful face.   With both pairs of hands, we fingered the cloak of lies that were woven together by self-hatred and feelings of worthlessness. Although brief, she was able to breathe in fresh air without the constraints of the heavy fabric surrounding her mouth and nose.

When we finished talking, I gave her a huge hug and reminded her that I was here for her.  She smiled, took a large inhale in, appreciating the space, the air, the freedom.  She walked out the door and greeted her friend with a roaring laugh, placing the constraining headdress back on.

We all do this, don’t we?  We hide behind a burka, whether it be out of pain, anger, or, insecurity.  We hide from others.  We hide from God.  We hide from ourselves.

I know I do.  Busyness.  Laughter.  A smile.  A nice and yet often false response of “I’m fine.”  Always listening to avoid talking about myself.  They cover me from the tips of my toes to the top of my head.  I tend to fiddle with the cloth around my body and push it out of my eyes a little, hoping one day I will have the courage to shed it for a much lighter, less constrictive outfit.

And yet, day-by-day, I do.  I am.  Writing this post.  Confronting people.  Talking about myself.  A response of “I’m actually not doing that great today.”  Saying no.  I am slowly peeling my burka away from my body and donning a new outfit.  A sundress.  A sundress, exposing my skin, exposing my face, exposing my beauty, exposing who I am.  And in this sundress, I can move.  I can dance.  I can be free.  Free to be me- Ashley.  The Ashley God created and not the Ashley everyone wants me to be or the Ashley I want to be for everyone else.  Just Ashley.

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