In my adult life I have grown accustomed to not being loved - or at least perceiving that I could not accept love. I have believed that the ugliness of my human experience was too much for others to bear - that it would reveal the conditions of their love.
My dad died almost 7 years ago. I would lay awake at night and quietly weep or i would close my eyes and see visions of him laying on the bathroom floor dead. He was my best friend. My dad always seemed able to shoulder the burden of my hurts or my confusions. Nothing was off limits in talking with my dad. This is what made us excellent partners in business and friendship. It always made me feel so secure to know that , if no one else understood or cared to listen - my dad always would - with no judgments . He always made time for me, and I always made time for him. I stopped feeling that security when he died.
All of our lives and roles in our lives changed when he died. That is not unique to our family, but that is the reality that I lived, so that is the only one to which I can speak.
Anyway, I became, more than ever, the fixer kid. I was the one who would help however I could - take on the big tasks that no one else could handle. I would rescue situations and people. I would "talk sense" into unreasonable people or scenarios. I was never allowed to grieve....and I stopped feeling unconditionally loved. This is not to say that I actually stopped BEING unconditionally loved. It's just what I felt. I had to be this or that for people. I lost my identity.....until last March.
Last March I left a culture of abusiveness. Immediately after that, I reunited with an old boyfriend - the one that always felt like unfinished business - the one that I knew had never stopped loving me and that accepted everything about me. the one that was never afraid to call me out on my misbehaviors but then give me a loving embrace right after. It did not take any time at all after our initial reconnection for me to realize that his character had not changed. He still loved me and was willing to shoulder up every bit of baggage that I couldn't carry....and then help me set it down at the appropriate "tomb" so that it could stay there and no longer encumber me.
It has been a very strange experience for me for someone to be so focused on my grief so that I could actually experience it. I have often felt that I have received much more than I have given, and I have felt so much guilt over that. Despite his constant reassurance that the scales were not tipped inappropriately in one direction, I have felt built.
He came to stay with me over the month of December. He stayed for an entire month - well, 27 days. Close enough. It was like a dream. After years of chronic insomnia, I found myself falling asleep at 10 at night and waking up at 7 in the morning. . I was no longer alone when I left work. My house, instead of being cold and lonely when I got home from work, was warm and inviting with a hug and kiss at the door and scents of delicious food cooking in my previously unused kitchen. We developed a routine for each evening and then found new things to do on my off days in this town where I have lived for 2 years but had never felt the freedom or had the company to explore.
.......and then he went home. I have felt grief over his absence. I knew I would, but the reality hit me nevertheless. I cried tears a short time or two, but I did not embrace my sadness - my loss - my loneliness. Instead, I pushed him away and blamed busyness. I said vague things about things between us not being normal, but I refused to even allow my own mind to admit what exactly it was because then I would have to reveal to him what I was afraid would actually make him feel badly for something that was outside his control. I didn't want to push him there....because I am a pusher. I am a "salesman". I didn't want to do that to him or even make him feel that's what I was doing. So....I just pushed him away. Not far. Just far enough that he couldn't get close to my heart to see the pain but not so far that I pushed him out of my life. It didn't work though, because when someone loves you - truly loves you - they see through those things, and he did.
We had a long talk this morning, and I had to admit my feelings. I had to apologize for pushing him away. It was horrible and embarrassing, but then.....I felt loved. He reminded me that embracing my pain with me does not tax him beyond what he is able. It does not deplete him. What depletes him is being pushed away being left alone and confused. Then he used the word "partners". He could not see me, but tears welled up in my eyes and then spilled over. I have a partner. Come what may, I have a partner. Until death do us part, I have someone to travel this human journey with me. I have someone who loves me. I have someone to love.
I am a lucky girl.
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