You Are the Lonely Woman

lonelywomanIt is the primary identification.

You are the lonely woman.

It is the foremost cry.

You are the lonely woman.

It is the pent-up scream.

You are the lonely woman.

This is the darkest place, you think. It has to be the worst. How can you possibly move from here? What can heal these wounds? These wounds that re-open every day.

And no one suffers in the way you do. You know that there is suffering. And you know that others do too. But you can only feel what is yours. It is real. It is suffering. It is the worst kind of suffering.

You are the lonely woman. And you keep it all inside, because no one could possibly love you, need you, want you, know you. No words could possibly fill up this hollow space. The hollow space you’ve become.

Nothing. Forever nothing.

You are the lonely woman.

Your cracked hands clench to fists, the wounds widening as the fingers tighten. This is suffering. This is the worst kind of suffering. It is small suffering. It is invisible suffering.

But then one day you feel it– head down, fists clenched, despair-filled walk. You feel the nudge…the tiniest push. You stagger backwards, the balance gone. You shake the feeling and you move on.

You are the lonely woman.

But you can barely walk 12 more feet, because there it is—that tiny push. Though this one shoved with force. It cannot be, you think.

You are the lonely woman, the only one to walk this road. The only one to know this pain, to feel this suffering. Cracked hands fist tighter, but your eyes don’t obey. They look up ever slightly. Those eyes of yours blink back tears. This is what you see.

She is the lonely woman.

It is her foremost cry.

She is the lonely woman.

It is her pent-up scream.

She’s walked this road like you. Her wounds are wide, her scars are deep–slightly tinged a different shade, but they’re still shaped like yours. She is the lonely woman who suffers just like you.

But she does not meet your gaze today. She is the lonely woman. And she runs right into you and you stagger backward. Your balance lost. But she just keeps on walking. She is the lonely woman.

And with a force you cannot know, you fall broken on your back. Your hair is dirty, tangled. This hollow space has ruled. Your torn up clothes show breaking image and your tears speak enraged release. You are the lonely woman. She is the lonely woman.

So after this world of suffering is cried, you roll onto your side. And you cannot possibly describe the desperation here. Women in all walks of life hold hollow space, with clenched fists, dirty hair, and torn apart clothes. The eyes trained downward, the world is blank. They hold the hollow space.

They are the lonely women.

They bump into each other all along the path. But they keep on walking. No one knows this kind of suffering, the invisible kind. It is the darkest place, they think. The darkest place is shared by many in every part of life, but it is not seen or known by any, because—

You are the lonely woman.

She is the lonely woman.

I am the lonely woman.

And this is how we live. This is how we breathe. Waiting for people to love us. Waiting for people to want us. Waiting for people to need us. Waiting for people to hold us. Fixed eyes, clenched fists, this hollow space….

If only we loved—

If only we wanted—

If only we needed—

If only we held—

Others.

******

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Previous Posts:

September Grace

It’s OK to Break Down

Real Women Series

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6 thoughts on “You Are the Lonely Woman

    • SierraFedorko says:

      Oh, Ashley. Thank you for these kind words. I’m so thankful you’re here. And I’m not just saying that! 🙂 I love connecting with other women through this blog, and sharing bits & pieces of our lives!

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