The power of a hug

A hug was the last thing my dad wanted from his dad before he passed away, and the only thing I wanted from my dad to ease the thought of my grandfather no longer being around.

I told myself some time ago that in order to be a strong woman in today’s world, I wouldn’t cry. So I chained a pad lock to the gate of my emotions, like the cage of a ferocious beast.

Very seldom do I admit to feeling broken, or to happily accepting hugs. I try not to tempt this monster inside of me, for I fear him more than he fears me.

Although, recent events have forced me to befriend this beast, and I’ve found that perhaps my presumptions about strength have led me astray.

There is a great deal of truth in tears, and honor in vulnerability.

You see, those with strength aren’t typically the one’s who fear. So avoiding my monster of emotions was really quite cowardly.

At the core of my buried feelings, I discovered that maybe after all these years I’ve simply been afraid to feel.

Afraid to accept the fact that I, like everyone else, am a beautiful mess of emotions taking every day as it comes.

Only now, I understand that sometime’s we have the armor to protect ourselves from this monster, and sometimes we don’t– in which case a hug may be our only sense of relief.


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