Saturday, September 18, 2004
My child
I've written myself a letter today, to help articulate and understand some of the things that I and we have been dealing with. When I say we I mean the blog community, for most of us seem to be on the same journey. Here is an excerpt from the letter.
I've opened up to someone in my life; ripped open my skin, and shown the guts. And it hurts. I found an infant inside, crouched in the darkness. Someone who knows that she can't be fully loved because of fear. I don't want to be loved as entirely as what is being offered. It's easier to give love because the focus comes off me. Because I don't have to accept it on a level that is deeper than I've received before. I don't have to be afraid to disappoint. Of being ugly. Of being left or never having been really taken in the first place. Of being deceived.
I have permission to be child-like at this time in my life. I can be silly. I can be girly. I will be loved more, instead of feeling the need to change in order to suit or satisfy. That is freedom, except to a mind that needs definition in order to understand existence and co-existence with someone.
What do I need to be? Others have needed me to be patient, loving, understanding, compassionate, supportive, directive, affirming, musical, funny, smart. What do you mean you accept me and love me only more when you see my ugliness. Can I do nothing to tick you off? My instinct becomes holding back and pushing away gently enough for self-preservation but slight undetectability. I can go so far in love and then the instinct to protect creeps up. Will you love me if I show you the ugly stuff?
I know that many of us feel this way. It's not just me. And if we pair down the reasons to their core they may be similar. Rejection. Abused trust. Disapointment. We are on this journey together. Have you found your child? It's time to have him/her stand up and walk into the light. To become an accepted public part of you. But not as they are. Not scared and insecure. Not repressed. Joyful. Trusting in that childlike way. As children we trusted but as adults we harbor the disappointment and distrust.
My self-letter probably isn't done yet, but it will be soon. And when it's finished I'll destroy it. Along with it the lies it tells. Come free little one. No more darkness.
I've opened up to someone in my life; ripped open my skin, and shown the guts. And it hurts. I found an infant inside, crouched in the darkness. Someone who knows that she can't be fully loved because of fear. I don't want to be loved as entirely as what is being offered. It's easier to give love because the focus comes off me. Because I don't have to accept it on a level that is deeper than I've received before. I don't have to be afraid to disappoint. Of being ugly. Of being left or never having been really taken in the first place. Of being deceived.
I have permission to be child-like at this time in my life. I can be silly. I can be girly. I will be loved more, instead of feeling the need to change in order to suit or satisfy. That is freedom, except to a mind that needs definition in order to understand existence and co-existence with someone.
What do I need to be? Others have needed me to be patient, loving, understanding, compassionate, supportive, directive, affirming, musical, funny, smart. What do you mean you accept me and love me only more when you see my ugliness. Can I do nothing to tick you off? My instinct becomes holding back and pushing away gently enough for self-preservation but slight undetectability. I can go so far in love and then the instinct to protect creeps up. Will you love me if I show you the ugly stuff?
I know that many of us feel this way. It's not just me. And if we pair down the reasons to their core they may be similar. Rejection. Abused trust. Disapointment. We are on this journey together. Have you found your child? It's time to have him/her stand up and walk into the light. To become an accepted public part of you. But not as they are. Not scared and insecure. Not repressed. Joyful. Trusting in that childlike way. As children we trusted but as adults we harbor the disappointment and distrust.
My self-letter probably isn't done yet, but it will be soon. And when it's finished I'll destroy it. Along with it the lies it tells. Come free little one. No more darkness.
// posted by Annette @ 5:50 p.m. 