when you let down your armor

I didn’t put eyeliner on yesterday. For at least 20 years, it’s been a non-negotiable part of my morning ritual. Every single day, I’d meticulously  cover up my ever present dark under eye circles, then line my dichromatic eyes with a deep purple liner to give them definition, a shield that only I knew about, to feel a sense of being ‘ready’ for whatever the day might bring.  Bring on the challenges, tasks, or maybe nothing at all – because I’m ready. 

Maybe it’s the increased exposure to the sun, from what feels like days and days outside mowing grass, causing my skin to have the most color it’s seen in years that made me skip it. Or is it simply that, right now, I don’t think eye liner is enough to make me feel ready for my day, steeled against the unimaginable.  My cloudy blue/gray eyes, even lined to perfection, can’t hide the storm brewing behind them.

Perhaps it’s an admission of defeat.  Maybe I can allow myself to believe it’s an act of courage – a raw acceptance of my vulnerability.  “I will let be what will be,” I try to tell myself.  This defiant acceptance is the hardest to swallow.  I don’t want to do this.  I do not want to be divorced.  I do not want to ‘go it alone’.  But I know I can.  My head even knows its right (just my heart refuses to keep up). 

I know no amount of preparedness can affect the outcome of this plight. There is no strategy for this kind of change, no checklist to satisfyingly check off the tasks as they’re complete.  So, I will sit with the pain, the unknown, the proverbial bumps.   And I’ll roll with those same emotions and endure the outcome when it’s time. It doesn’t seem like a big deal, does it?  It’s just eye liner. But I noticed.  My hands noticed.  My reflection noticed.   And it means something when you’re a creature of habit, when the small, steady rhythms of your life are unraveling.  It means the tides are changing and all I can do is stand bare-faced and witness it.