doing me

Absence and presence are more than habitual practices or well developed coping skills. They speak. They have varied voices. They can be pitchy. They are loud. They are necessary. 

What does support really look like? Is it anxiety ridden discomfort masked in pretty clothes with smiling make-up? Is it likes? Is it hour long conversations? Is it encouraging words? Is it expectations we will never meet? 

I'm present in community. My absence is felt. My absence is that test, that break showing me the river is deeper than some folks can swim. It becomes safe. It rescues me from the pressures of people pleasing. I do me. It looks like I don't care. It looks like I have other things to do. I don't move like that. Maybe I should've been in a band. 

What happens when who you really are ain't who folks want? What do you do with yourself? I stay home. I see who shows up. I count the texts. I watch the timelines. I realize my values are, again, different.