It’s Your Inner Cheerleader Talking. You Better Listen.

It’s been decades since you locked me in the basement.

Photo by CoWomen from Pexels

You and I need to talk.

Yes, right now. Unequivocally and right now.

Because you’ve seemed to have forgotten about me, and I won’t have it.

When you were little, you and I were best friends. I was the first voice you ever heard, even before your mother’s voice. I screamed at you that you can take that breath, and that it will be fine, and that you’re awesome.

I told you that you’re too cute and too important not to get whatever it is that you need. Day or night, you screamed for it, and you got it. That was me.

I was the one who told you you could make that jump, and catch that ball, and get wet up to your ears in the puddles outside and still be okay.

Then, around your fourth or fifth year, was it (excuse my memory, it’s been a while), a tiny whisper which always existed in your head, but which I had always managed to drown out, started to grow louder.

What if this hurt? What if that was wrong? What if mom gets mad at you again? What if dad is unhappy? What if that little brother of yours is cuter, smarter, or better, or all of these things?