A Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing

To a stranger, I might look flinty. I might appear cold and/or aloof, or like someone who would stare Death in the face and say “Biiiiitch, I wish you would!” I mean, I might (sorry, Death)… though that’s not the whole truth. Partially, it’s genetics. But also partially, I just had to sharpen my claws at a young age.

I felt I had to cover up the pain of not being fully accepted by those I herded with. I was the other, the oddity, the taboo, or the one tasked with managing the mental health of the ones who should have been managing me. I presented differently, spoke differently, responded differently. I intrigued them, which made many fear (?) or resent (?) me. At least, that’s what I gather from what I’ve been told — what I’ve felt.

Part of my outsiderhood was due to me being mixed (it wasn’t as cool in the 80’s and 90’s to be bi-racial). I was mostly raised by the white side.

I spent most of my childhood in locales where I obviously stood out (read Kuntry) with people (mostly adults) who felt I was different from them, even beneath them. Not to mention, my physical features (broad of shoulder + deep of voice + witchy of eye) and natural intensity make me come off like a straight-up female movie villain. Sadly, I am not. Well, at least not ALL the time. I am merely a scared-ass little sheep disguised as a big ‘ole brooding wolf.

I didn’t choose my strappings (my pelt?) — but stones thrown, even with a paw offered in friendship, can alter any animal’s skin thickness, their behavior, their ability to trust or be vulnerable. After a lifetime of getting gouged by some carefully and some not-so-carefully laid traps, I have learned to gnash my jaws and flash my teeth. It’s only for the protection of myself or others — usually for others, not as much so for myself (working on it!). It’s never meant as an offense, although those with ‘pretenses’ tend to think so.

Nonetheless, just because I don’t look like you or act like you doesn’t mean that I don’t hurt like you. Just because I sometimes choose to ignore the slights that you think I don’t hear or you think I’m too dull to pick up on, doesn’t mean you aren’t scarring me. And I might inadvertently scar you. I’m sorry.

Begrudgingly, this old dog still craves your acceptance and genuine love and companionship. Maybe even a pat on the head or a scratch behind the ear — but, perhaps, this is true of us all?

Because of our circumstances, we’ve had to adopt airs. We’ve had to be entertainers and people pleasers. We’ve had to don societally acceptable role-patterned clothing that doesn’t often align with the whos’ we actually wish to wear. We’ve had to dim our inner light to make others comfortable, even though we made ourselves less so in the process.

We’ve had to beat down the certain things that would have made us more certainly us so that we could fit into molds that we’d never be able to fit into.

Are we not tired yet of feeling as though we’re never allowed to ‘be’ authentically? Oh boy, is this mangy b*tch tired.

It’s often hard not knowing if you truly exist outside of yourself — not knowing if you’ve impacted others positively, not letting them know how they’ve negatively or positively impacted you in return. Wandering around mist-like, fading away as soon as the not-so-well-meaning light chases away all your traces.

Jeez… what a downer! Let’s lighten this up a bit.

It’s important to break out of those trappings, to tap into your true expression. To lick your wounds, but not allow them to harden that wild heart of yours.

We’ve got to express all the sad, rageful, heartbreakingly lost-child-like feelings in a constructive and non-harmful manner so that we can ascend to higher wolfy-ness. Even if that means indulging in some blood-curdling sessions of scream therapy, in some day-long, sweat lodge-style meditations, or simply by writing in a journal (religiously enough), we should do it.

This goes for those of you who were raised to be repressed hyper-masculines or uber-submissive dociles. This is also true of those living the boats-n-hoes lifestyle or the ones devoutly practitioner-ing, for the fill-in-the-blanks and the not quite-figured-outs. Whoever you are, however you identify, rediscovering the pieces of yourself that you might’ve locked away, or the hunks that were carelessly ripped from your lustrous coat, might not only free you of the burdens of living half-lives but just might open you up to finding your true pack. The other canines that accept you as you are. You deserve that.

And should you ever pass me on some path somewhere, make sure you howl heartily. I want to know you in all of your magnificent wolfery — sheep or no sheep. (Preferably sheep.)

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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From The Good Men Project on Medium

What Does Being in Love and Loving Someone Really Mean?

My 9-Year-Old Accidentally Explained Why His Mom Divorced Me

The One Thing Men Want More Than Sex

The Internal Struggle Men Battle in Silence

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