A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

Too much. I’ve always been

too much, or not enough.

Either extreme – 

sometimes they even mean the same thing.

Too loud – use

your inside voice. 

Too large – lose

some weight.

Too intense.

Too emotional.

Too opinionated. 

Too intimidating. 

Too nerdy.

Too angry. 

Too much for us to handle –

is what they mean –

but they don’t say it.

Instead they say:

Could you 

just 

be 

less?

But I’ve also been less.

Not funny enough. 

Not pretty enough. 

Not smart enough.

Not skinny enough.

You could have a pretty face,

he said, 

if you’d just lose some weight,

he said,

to the girl who had lost so much already;

lost so much weight and other things,

trying just to be

enough,

not too much

or too little.

Just right, like baby bear’s porridge.

Goldilocks wouldn’t like me.

Not sick enough.

You couldn’t possibly be in that much pain.

Look at you functioning.  

You went to work. 

You walked in here.

You passed that exam.

It’s not severe enough. 

It doesn’t look as though 

it’s really affecting you,

he said. 

Delayed diagnoses

because there was too much of me

and not enough evidence of anything else. 

Only when there was less of me

did anyone concede that

just maybe

there could be another cause, 

another answer,

not just that I was too much. 

You’d know it was broken,

she said, 

if it really hurt more,

and you couldn’t use it,

but you seem ok,

and you moved it,

so it must be fine. 

Right?

Years later the x-ray would show

literal scars on my bones.

So that’s what a fracture feels like.

It doesn’t hurt enough.

Another one, missed again,

because even I thought

it doesn’t hurt enough.

You don’t look sick.

We don’t need to treat it,

if you can still work.

Come back

 if you can’t, 

but maybe first lose some weight.

No matter what it is,

no matter how unrelated,

maybe lose some weight. 

There’s too much of that

and you aren’t doing enough about it. 

No one asks what it costs to push through.

It obviously doesn’t cost enough. 

A lifelong effort

to be less of some things,

to be more of others,

not to be in the way,

not to need anything

from anybody else,

because that would also be too much.

I start to tell myself the same things. 

Gosh, that laugh was too loud,

tone it down, 

before they notice. 

You’re fine, look at you,

it can’t be that bad.

Don’t show them too much.

You’ll scare them off. 

Don’t be too honest. 

It’s just easier that way,

and safer.  I know

you’re tempted right now

to answer that question honestly

but honestly

you’re fine

what you have now is enough,

and it would be too much.