There’s a moment in The Velveteen Rabbit—one of those children’s books that wasn’t really written just for children—where the Skin Horse lays it all out plain and simple. He tells the Rabbit what it means to become Real. Not just a toy. Not just something pretty or useful. Real.
And mercy, if that part doesn’t hit you right in the gut as a grown-up.
“Real isn’t how you are made… It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time… then you become Real.”
Y’all. That line takes me straight back to my childhood. A time that, if we’re being honest (and Lord knows I always am), was no picnic. My younger years were a whole mess of chaos, instability, and trying to survive things no child ought to experience. I learned early that people don’t always stick around. That not everyone is gentle with hearts. And that being tough wasn’t optional—it was necessary.
So when I read this part of the book, especially as a grown woman who’s done some livin’, it stops me cold.
“It doesn’t happen all at once… You become. It takes a long time.”
Whew. Ain’t that the truth?
See, I didn’t come into this world with a soft cushion of safety and love. I had to earn every ounce of peace I carry today. Becoming “Real” for me meant surviving the storm—and not just surviving, but finding a way to still love in the middle of it. To still let people in, even when my edges were sharp and I didn’t trust the ground under my feet.
It meant years of heartache, therapy, deep talks, ugly cries, and hard, hard healing. It meant letting my guard down enough for my friends—the one’s that give “Friends” a run for their money—to love me in the places I didn’t think deserved it. It meant watching my sons become men, knowing I did the best I could with what I had, and that somehow, grace filled in the gaps.
“Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby.”
Amen, Skin Horse. My joints creak. My hair ain’t what it used to be. Lord help me, some days I wake up and wonder if anything’s still where I left it. But I know I’m Real now. And you know what? That means everything.
Because being Real is not about perfection. It’s not about always having it together or being the prettiest package in the room. It’s about having lived. About having loved and been loved in return. It’s about showing up, even when you’re tired. Even when it hurts.
And the older I get, the more I realize this—Real people recognize Real. We find each other. We see past the worn edges and into the soul. And we don’t mind the scars, because we know what it took to earn them.
So if you’re out there, feeling like you’re falling apart or not enough, let me tell you something:
You are becoming.
Bit by bit.
Heartbreak by heartbreak.
Breakthrough by breakthrough.
One day you’ll look in the mirror, maybe a little more worn than you used to be, and realize… you’ve become Real.
And honey, ain’t nothing more beautiful than that.
XOXO, Jani
Journeys With Jani 