Hedgehog

When I was five years old, in my music and movement class in primary school, the gym teacher asked us all to pick an animal to portray. I was a hedgehog, I immediately decided. I scrunched my little body into a small ball like a piece of paper, a discarded draft, and swung there on the spot, limbs tucked out of the way. Others were cats,dogs, horses and foxes, but the truth is, I have always felt more hedgehog.

We’re all vulnerable to barbs and hurts, every single day. All of us are woundable. Wouldn’t it be beautiful to be a hedgehog, just to roll up into a ball, spikes out against such hurts? Empaths feel more acutely the hurt and joy of days; the slights as well as endearments. We wish we could grow external spikes to protect us, a skin of little arrows, an instant weapon against cruelty and invalidation.

Hedgehogs are cool critters, they have the sweetest little faces, but are quick-witted, instinctive and scurry off when attacked, or upon sensing danger from potential predators. I want to instantly prick the skin of my opponents- not cause too much damage, but just enough to say, “Don’t mess”.

Your words were carefully chosen barbs. Each word hurt, because you came into my life when I was in great pain. You came on like healing; but left like hurt. I lost myself in you and your lies. But now I just feel indifferent, yet quite resolved not to tangle with you again, or anyone else hellbent on causing deliberate pain. My spikes are out, and will remain out until it’s safe to cross the path again.