It’s harder for me to honor the soft, warm, tender side of myself. Or, to just sit with love and joy and gratitude. But if I’m going to tell the truth, right now I feel good. I know myself in this moment to be incredibly well loved. I can take a deep breath and smile.
I’m aware that it’s harder for me to write this post than it was for me to write two nights ago when the words flowed from my fingers tips and I just let them. I got out of the way and let something surprise me. Now I’m back to wanting to control. It’s taking me longer to type each line and I’m deleting quite a bit.
I seem to value the suffering more. I actually want to grasp at it and stir it back up so as to have sadness to splash across the screen.
My day wasn’t even particularly great or different. I just happened to spend my evening with one of my dearest friends and we laughed a lot. He sees me. He loves me. I allow myself to love and be loved by him.
I am sometimes very, very sweet. It scares me more to be gentle than it does to have an edge. Tonight I feel a bit gooey in the center. Why is it so much harder for to value that? Especially given the truth which is, more than anything, I want to be able to be soft. I want to be held. I want to be open and vulnerable so that I can feel seen and then experience love from there. I don’t want to be defended and jaded and cynical, yet these are the very aspects on which I pride myself.
I am well loved. I think it’s possible that I always have been. It frightened me to admit that just now. It’s so not a part of the story I had.