I swim in the muck of the difficult either waiting for the tide to change or until I muster the strength to swim up and out. It hurts, it’s tiring and strips me raw. But in this space, I notice that I lose all the scales that protect me from the outside world. I shed my skin. I am delicate and sensitive to any and all elements. And it’s ok. Because the scales that cover my body and keep me safe block my view sometimes too. What I’ve accumulated to mask the vulnerable parts of me needs to fall away so I can see what I’m missing. And as my tender body emerges, I stretch and grow and groan as my new skin takes hold. Maybe it will be less thick this next time around. All I know is that I don’t want it to be so layered that it limits my view of the world and all that matters. I don’t want it to be so thick that it keeps me locked inside and unable to shine my light.

In rawness, I catch a glimpse of the sun coming up and I cry thankful for this morning, this moment. In rawness, I see more miracles and beauty. I see more of God. I am closer to that home where my soul lived before. I feel so intensely when I am raw. It can force me to cry out for help or cry out in awe of the beauty placed before my unencumbered eyes. I have lost my scales so everything is tender, but I see things too as if for the first time. Not being fully armored and protected, beauty is intensified. What my eyes pull in rushes through my body and fills every cell with heaven’s strength. The beauty of a tree reaching towards the sky, the stars, the sun and the voice of a child gets imprinted on every cell of my body. I notice these things because I don’t have the strength to let anything pull me from the now. Rawness leaves me sprawled on the floor and too weak to do nothing more than just be. I have shed my scales. I am rebuilding. In rawness I’m thirsty for relief so I easily drink in God’s elixir of healing in the form of the beauty all around me. A beauty that would go unnoticed had I not shed my protective layers and fallen to the ground weak and vulnerable. Only in this place, do I get real glimpses of heaven. Those views are what allow me to pull myself from the muck and start again.

Raw states come in many colors. In rawness I have screamed and not shown my better self. I’ve left messes on the floor or tried to repair the damage I’ve done. If I’ve left the mess, for sure I’ve gathered more scales. I can come up with a million excuses to justify my behavior or my fear and avoid repair. Those excuses become more scales. They protect me from bearing my soul, being uncomfortable or getting hurt. They keep me from recognizing that I am a human who makes mistakes and it is ok. It’s not about fairness, it’s about looking at my pieces in the puzzle of human interaction and what keeps me and another from connecting or making things right. Repair creates connection. In a raw state I have to emerge unprotected to meet someone else who I hope is brave enough to emerge unprotected too. The ruptures we create and the messes we make will never be cleaned up by superficially dusting off each other’s scales. We have to show what’s underneath. Rawness is the place where the real work begins.

In rawness I feel love and gratitude more deeply too. It moves me to reach out, be vulnerable and ask for help. What have I got to lose? I have no skin. I need the support of people in my life until my new growth takes hold. I say “Yes” because there’s no escaping the fact that I need help. When thickly layered with all my scales I usually say, “No, I’m fine!” when someone offers a hand. The rawness drives me to let others tend to me, take care of me and their love reminds me I am deserving even when I don’t feel it sometimes. I am grateful for the salve to my tender skin and the many hands that have fostered my healing. I feel love and gratitude for the angels that want to help and connect because they know rawness too. In this place, they share their gifts and they gather gifts. We are magnificently designed to receive the gift of a more meaningful life when in the service of loving others. Allowing someone to love me helps us both. The drops of love that fall on me cycle back into the earth and always find their way back to the ones who created the drops in the first place.

I’ll shed my skin and stay tender for a bit. I’ll lift my head up just enough to notice how different things look from this vantage point. There’s nothing covering me, my vision or my ears. I am being reborn and growing new skin. A thin protective layer is essential for my survival but I want to make sure I shed the skin I’ve outgrown. If my skin restricts me, it will be impossible for me to take chances in life and in love. A life of meaning is built by showing what’s underneath your scales once in a while. I will wriggle out of what binds me and sit in that tender place for a bit letting angels take care of me while I heal. I will drink in the beauty that shows up in its many forms to remind me to hold on, grow and be grateful. That’s always better then continuing to live restricted by my own skin and the weight of all my scales.

Questions/activities to ponder or good journal prompts!

1. Recall a time when you were raw. What led to that moment? What do you remember feeling at that time?
2. Have you ever noticed beauty at a time when you’ve been stripped down to the core? Why or why not?
3. In rawness we can have reactionary responses. How difficult is it for you to repair if you’ve made a mess and why?
4. Most people are driven to help when they see a need. What prevents us from doing so?
5. A life of love and meaning requires connection, sharing and “showing what’s under our scales”. Why don’t we do this more often?