Shining Light into Darkness: From Trauma to Healing

On Sweetness

I've always dreamed about what it would feel like to be called "sweet."
Sweet like the soft spoken gentle women in my Book Club who never argue about an opinion of a book's characterization, but instead nod and thin lipped smile with "Mmm hmmms and I see where you could get that."
Sweet natured like the girls in my elementary school who played jump rope, pony tails perfectly synched to their jumping, who never got red faced and sweaty being overly competitive.
Sweet like the folks who read opinions on the internet and just scroll past them.
Sweet like the women who quietly disagree with their husband's politics but let the issue drop so it doesn't get out of hand.

I don't think "sweet" is an adjective anyone has ever used to label me.
I wasn't sweet as a crimson faced kid with a heated temper who stabbed her dad with a fork and whose door slam knocked a light off the wall, giving her mom a concussion.
I wasn't sweet as a kid who learned the early lesson of abandonment and tested each friend and partner's loyalty.
I wasn't sweet typing out heated replies to misaligned viewpoints by strangers.
I wasn't sweet not backing down in any debated topic, with anyone.
I certainly wasn't sweet to any man, at any time, who passed through intimately.

Fiery, bossy, stubborn, passionate, opinionated...I know the texture and taste of these words.
Guess I've never had a "sweet" tooth.