Pixabay.com
Did you ever have one of those tantrum moments as a child where you planted your feet, hands on hips and refused to move?
With most things, I’ll just shift over to accommodate whatever force is trying to move me. Sometimes I do it without even noticing, but other times I notice and don’t appreciate the subtle or not-so-subtle shove. In those instances, I will still move, but with a “look” that makes it clear that I’m not thrilled. Well, at least it seems clear to me.
Sometimes, before I move, there are strong words and stiffness that approaches the hands on hips, but then I move, stiffly, accepting the inevitable. I know I won’t have any real say anyway and that unwelcome invisibility shrouds me. I don’t know how to find my way out.
Refusal to move. Certain things call for that firm stand, yet I’m not good at being that grounded. The conversation is there, in my head, but cannot find the right synapse to fire.
I’ve signed papers I never should have signed, out of fear, plain and simple. Out of naivety, thinking surely I must count for more than whatever I signed away. I’ve remained silent when my faith alarm bells have reverberated through my bones telling me to speak.
How does one learn to refuse to move? Not with hands on hips, but with grace?
