Doormat

I grew up in a world where I was the doormat. I was the ragged, dirty, flat rectangle that everyone wiped their muddy shoes on.

And it showed. It showed in every aspect of my life. Those beliefs were engraved into me at the base of my soul.

So, when I continued to edge my way through life, attempting to carve a path for myself out of the dense forest of insecurities and lies that were poured into me as a child, I came up empty.

Trying to enter my way into a conversation, but the bouncer wouldn’t let me in the door. I guess my ID wasn’t good enough.

Or maybe I just wasn’t good enough.

So, I continued to sit outside, as the doormat.

So, when I met someone that made me feel like a beautiful centerpiece instead of a doormat, I was in awe. I couldn’t believe that I was chosen to sit on the table, on display, to be honored.

I was selected to sit in the King’s chair at dinner parties. I was to be cherished and it wasn’t just my beauty that enthralled my partner. It was also my character.

Someone else was carving out a path to bring me into a conversation. For the first time in my life, someone wanted to hear my voice.

Until suddenly, I became the centerpiece with a cracked base and petals that just cluttered the table.

It happened gradually. Their language changed, then their intentions followed suit.

Before I knew it, I was the centerpiece that people made jokes about. Once again, I was made to feel like my voice was a just a faulty guitar string that needed to be tuned.

My whole life, I’ve always needed to be tuned.

Alas, I was shoved off the table at gatherings. So, I rolled myself up and did what I do best; I became a doormat.

The thing that people wipe their muddy shoes on.

The thing that people may comment on “oh, I like your doormat.” But only for the shallow things.

Like it’s beauty or a quick line of cleverness.

But soon enough, people moved on.

How did I let myself become a doormat again?

After many muddied apologies and failure to thrive, my relationship crumbled at the base; cracked like the ugly centerpiece I believed I was. And rolled up, like a dirty doormat.

Stripped from the inside out, my shaggy exterior felt dull and disappointing.

The girl who was never enough.

So, 5 months later, when I picked out a new doormat, I was quite nervous to show my roommate.

But as I held up the Pride themed doormat and presented it to my Christian roommate, she smiled and replied “I love it. Put it in front of the door, it’s perfect.”

So everyday when I come home from work and I see my doormat, I read it over and over again. Sometimes, I just stand there and soak in the words, the language.

I read my doormat and smile; as it says, “All are welcome here.”

I am no longer the doormat.