My Alter Ego

I do my best work in the dark.

Not because I am veiled in mystery or benefit from stealth, but because like recognizes like. I am at home in the dark—I welcome it, and it welcomes me.

I used to be afraid of the part of myself that’s colored several shades darker than gray. I used to think it made me less desirable, less valuable—more work than I was worth. It was hard for me to accept this part of myself, to stop trying to rid myself of it as if it were something to be ashamed of.

I know now that what gave birth to my dark side is life experience.

It’s the result of shot-down expectations, the addition and subtraction of a few friends.

It’s challenges I didn’t think I’d face until I was at least fifty—or never at all.

It’s the false promises I knew not to trust but believed anyway.

My dark side is not something I was born with. It does not mean I am tainted or “damaged goods.”

It’s my pessimism, yes—but it’s also my survival instinct. My self-preservation.

The caution that warns me when a new choice presents itself.

It’s my empathy.

It’s how I connect with others and practice compassion—because I have been many places and known many heartbreaks.

My dark side is an alter ego: flawed, easily triggered, and carrying many wounds.

But it’s also the part of me that connects me to my humanity—and to the humanity of others.

My dark side is—well—black.

As black as night, some days.

But in the night sky, stars can be seen.

And within those stars is a path—a guide to better understanding.

A lightpost that leads the way forward.