The Cinderella of my Soul

Today I would like to talk about the Cinderella of my soul. Because in the last days this part really insisted to get to the surface. And surprisingly I feel the need to be proud with it, exactly the same way I put all the efforts in the world to hide it. 

Things happened in the context of the fact that I worked more than the usual in order to fulfil all my self-imposed tasks in time. In order to do more things at once, to please everybody and, in my arrogance, to keep the whole Universe on my shoulders.

In a word, to do what I am best at doing ever since I came into this world: to be perfect. Because, when I was a child, the smallest critique from a person, no matter their name and their significance in my life, has had the power to invalidate me almost entirely as a human being. It was like I would have been wiped from the face of the Earth by a single word, gesture, dismissing look from somebody.

The wounded inner child

And because there was s a small part in me that wanted so much to be validated by everybody because she’s good, wonderful, perfect, bright, warm, gentle, no less than an angel on Earth, I found it appropriate to hide so well that part in me who is  representing the shadow self. The part that is a disaster, is lazy, ugly, careless, untidy, unprofessional, a liar, a coward.

And I did it wonderfully, until the other day, when that place in me that has been ignored for so long started to scream.

It screamed so loud that I knew it was the time to give up. To allow myself to feel as if I was about to crumble. To let the disaster unravel. To release the huge tension behind this fight. To start crying as if the most terrible thing had happened to me. And it did actually, day by day, for so long, trying to play hide and seek with my own shadows.

And when I got up from this collapse that tore my identity that I had been preparing and working upon for so long, to pieces, I found the courage to start gathering the pieces.

Piece by piece, like a puzzle. I finally received the mirror in which I could clearly see this scared and ugly little girl inside of me. I saw her in front of my eyes that were had been washed with the tears of total honesty.

Cinderella: the princess of my soul

Now I know why from time to time my body gives me messages that it needs to take a break from perfection. Now I know why sometimes I feel as if everything around me is a disaster. Because this is the desperate shout of my inner little girl.

Now I know that this scared little girl does not need the perfect make-up, the perfect hair, the perfect clothes and so much perfection around her.

She wants to know that she is allowed to exist with an unwashed and uncombed hair, with a dirty face, with ripped clothes and bare feet. Like a Cinderella of My Soul.

“My dear Cinderella, I hid you so well behind my make-up and my impeccably assorted clothes, but right now I want you to know that I cannot afford anymore to pretend you don’t exist. You proved to me so much that when I don’t have eyes for you, my life is charmless. It is but a crazy race for the confirmation of a self regard that starts to gain too much power over my life. A race that I end today, through surrender. Because the time of authenticity has come.”

The real you

Authenticity means to be both a princess and a Cinderella and, in the same time, none of the two.

To have no meaning for you whether those around you see the princess or the Cinderella in you. Because you feed both, like two children of yours, between which there is no place for differences of preferences.

And my dear Cinderella, now I know: you can be the one that, when the moment of the ball comes, turn yourself into the most beautiful princess.

Because she allows herself to be who she is, she receives all of a sudden the most beautiful dress and the most beautiful shoes.

How beautiful princesses we can be at sunset, when, in the midday we allow ourselves to go back, from time to time to our smut!

Now I understand that, without smut, the princess is just a tasteless, cardboard, half empty being. She just wears a noble title she’s been bored with for a long time. Which she cannot give up to, out of the fear that she will be judged.