Going Pink by Gillian

I used to blush very easily.
“Going pink” simply wouldn’t do it justice, though; rather “glowing crimson’’ or “flowing vermilion.”
I would feel this rising tide of burning glowing lava climbing up my neck and spreading voraciously across my cheeks to turn my ears into pulsating heat sinks.
Embarrassment engendered this rush of hot color, and so did anger, and in my younger days I’m not sure which came upon me more frequently.
I often found myself embarrassed, and often lost my temper, and it was often ugly.

Over the years I guess I got my emotions under better control.
I rarely lose my temper these days, having discovered better ways to channel my energy.
I rarely feel embarrassed, probably because I have become immune to it after making an ass of myself so many times in so many ways over so many years. Also, quite honestly, the older I get the less I care what others think of me and if sometimes there are some laughs at my expense, so what? Enjoy it as my gift, freely given.

But I’m left with a guilty secret, which I have shared with very few people.
I rarely blush visibly any more, yet sometimes I still feel that hot red flush, but confined on the invisible inside of me rather than on the visible outside.
So I’m the only one who knows that I have once more embarrassed myself.
Because I do care what I think of me, of my internal thought processes and reactions.
And the terrible thing about thoughts is that you absolutely cannot unthink them.
No matter how hard you try, no matter how loudly you say to your self, oh how could I have thought that, it doesn’t evaporate.

Less often, I’m proud to report, but still occasionally my gut reaction is completely mortifying to me. It may be racial, ageist, sexist, and yes, homophobic. How can that be? I consider myself a totally inclusive person completely free of all prejudice.
Sometimes my unbidden thoughts are superior, scornful, mocking, derisive. How can that be? I consider myself a totally inclusive person completely free of judgment.
When these unthinkable thoughts leap up in me, I feel an embarrassment before myself so much worse than any I ever felt before others and that invisible red-hot lava curls around my guts.

Where do these thoughts come from? It’s as if some prehistoric part of me remains deep inside my psyche, some part which did not evolve along with the rest of me, thinking things which not only would I never dream of saying now, but I’m sure I never in my life would have said.
I doubt I will ever understand why this happens, and I guess the fact that I find it repulsive and horrifying says a lot in my own defense.

But going pink, or glowing crimson, has a whole lot deeper, scarier meaning to me than frequently flushed pink cheeks.

About the Author

I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have now been with my wonderful partner Betsy for 25 years.