Will stood in the doorway @ dusk.

Waiting for Koda + I to finish our last walk of the day.

As I reached him, through teary eyes, I spoke ::

‘I don’t think I’m very good at loving.’

I didn’t need a response.

I needed to confess where I was.

So far away.

From everything.

The sky, the lake behind the house, the air – all untouchable, unbreathable.

I know this detachment well.

Memories from toddler til’ now pulsating in my system.

Of vaguely being here.

Validating ‘I don’t belong’ + ‘I’m different’.

It all feels rancid + way expired.

I can no longer live w/ imposed distance + implied difference.

But the fear.

The fear is engulfing.

It plays out w/ Will the strongest.

For that risk is my realest.

If I stop distancing myself from him…

and he leaves me close-up + wide open,

i’m not sure I could handle it.

That tugs on the original wound of being left.

That lives in my cells.

Our cells.

We are living out our own variations of being left.

Left at our most exposed when we weren’t ready to cope.

So young this happens.

The aftermath:  a learned rotten core.

That our essence is somehow shameful.

Remoteness becomes the gate keeper to our putrid insides.

But there’s another quality to this original wound.

That’s slightly hard to swallow.

A selfish-ish feature ::

We’re not very good at loving {gulp}

I’m working to forgive the person I used to be.

The one who chose to ‘not belong’ as defense.

Because I want to love the capacity I know is possible.

Hang in there Will, all of me is coming,

as close as I can,

as fast I can.

And you too, reading these words, I want to love you just the same.

It’s identical love you see.

So perhaps, ask yourself, are you playing the ‘I don’t belong’ or ‘I’m different’ card?

You can trade those in for different ones.

The dealer is happy to give us a new hand.


PS : Next week (7.7), I’m releasing a free course on shame.  It will be 5 days of conscious + unconscious discovery to get us to the core of our original wound.  I thought mine to be social anxiety > disordered eating > my body > the ‘empath’ curriculum > birth trauma > in utero distress > etc. The layers are deep.  And in my experience getting to the origin helps shake the shame.  Add story to shame + it shrivels.

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