The Milkman

I grew up at a time when men were considered cool if they put each other down and acted like they knew everything. I was different.

During holidays, I enjoyed spending time in the kitchen with the women as they prepared the meal. Afterward, they’d talk about their lives, often sharing painful things.

They’d offer me some chocolate milk while they sipped their coffee. I felt accepted—until someone would say, “Sweetie, go join the men in the other room. They have more important things to talk about.”

I’d walk away quietly, hearing them yell at the football players on the RCA in front of them, while drinking their beer.

Being in a field where I work with mostly women, I still enjoy being in the kitchen. But sometimes I find myself wandering into the men’s room, where few make eye contact or speak.

At other times, I prefer the common room, where people sit together more freely, with space to talk, walk around, or be alone and write.

I see myself as a milkman—quietly bringing nourishment to the world each day. For a long time, I worked from the shadows, often invisible. But now, I’m much bolder. I don’t hide anymore.

People need the milk I offer—without it, they might feel alone, unable to find their own. I no longer feel ashamed of the kind I bring to the table. The milk is the love we all need, especially now.

Enjoy a cold glass, even chocolate or strawberry. I still carry vanilla, if you prefer. Then offer a glass of your favorite to someone who needs it. See if they’d like to sit down and talk for a while. You'll begin to see that it's okay to be different.

And afterward, slip out the door. Sit in the sunshine—even on a chilly day in Vermont—and drink one yourself with a little maple syrup stirred in.

These days, I prefer the almond variety. Or some good spring water, poured into one of those tall, insulated tumblers that keep it just the way I like it, and always half full. It helps with digestion and saves me the energy of having to keep pushing my kidney stones up the hill.

Especially while watching my stock portfolio drop and listening to the old men at the barbershop talk about the news. I smile respectfully in my well-worn T-shirt, which my wife gave me years ago, that says, “I am different.”

I’m still the milkman—quietly proud of who I am and who I’ve become, more than presence—a true belonging.

Thanks for being here in the Light of Invisibility, a place where you can be different and feel like you belong.

Comments or questions? Email me at mcecilvt@aol.com.. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold, or long to be held by, in the light of invisibility.

Dr. Cecil is a licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. He specializes in treating complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma, bringing therapy to life through heartfelt stories and images of connection and healing that emerge from the light of invisibility.