In the shade of trees that have created a roof over the forest floor, a boulder rests. Covered in moss and liken, small shrubs grow up around the rock, and through the branches above, a green peaceful glow is cast onto its gray surface creating an imperturbable scene, a perfect place to sit and recollect.
The term, "you are my rock" refers to someone who is as dependable and strong as a boulder. That person is a sturdy foundation and a well of dependence. I am that support for many people. I am the boulder resting on the forest floor.
I am known for my advice and loyalty. I offer a place to rest for weary hikers and protection for small animals. I am often credited for my self assurance, and asked how I am so confident in myself.
But, what if the boulder, covered with the protection of the trees, was teetering on a hill? Only, the shrubbery masked its un-sturdiness. The seemingly solid surface is really on the verge of sliding off the edge. A viewer may never know, but the boulder can feel itself slipping as people come to it whispering what is heavy on their heart. Each hand reaching for its support, slowly pushes the rock closer to its demise.
I am the "reliable" friend, the one who gives the best advice. I engulfed myself in a cocoon of other peoples' issues a long time ago. The shell around me is so thick that no one would ever know how deep the crack is. I teeter on the hill letting others problems push me like a vending machine. I hand out my advice, refusing to take it myself. "You're gorgeous!" "Who cares what others think?" "Be yourself." But what about me? Each dispense nudges me closer to falling off the hill. Others problems to fix, so many problems to fix, too many problems to fix, they all became my own. Soon it was no longer droplets falling on me, but a wave of predicaments that drowned me. Worries and difficulties, not mine but seemingly mine to deal with. I created an illusion for myself, one in which I was responsible for everyone else's unhappiness and issues. But what about me?
The rain falling through the green roof above me is a constant reminder of reality. Each drip... drop... drip... drip. As rhythmic as a drum and as persistent as a child. Each droplet and problem corroding my surface, they slowly pull bits of me away.
My stability that keeps people grounded even when they are doubled over, upside down, and swaying back and forth, is teetering on the brink of demolition. It is picked at by the elements. I am molded, changed, and defined by each. When little bits of stone get pulled away by the water I find myself in a new place.
Down the hill. All the way down. No more tree protection. No more stability. Only a broken boulder.
Pieces of me are torn apart and my once wholesome self was pulled in every direction. One pebble continues to be pushed down the hill, over the edge of a cliff, and finds itself laying on a beach.
The problems that once scared me, transform me. I no longer rest teetering on a hill, but laying in the sand of a beach, surrounded by those who have gone through the same struggle.
It was never the person's fault for pushing me over the edge. Maybe it was fate, or just the forces of nature. The pebble finds itself anewed and stronger, no longer carrying everyone else's burdens, simply letting them wash over it: just as waves roll over the beach.
But me? I've learned to let problems wash over me, acknowledging others struggles but understanding that I truly have no control over them. Just as the ocean washes over the sand.
