Some days I wake up and all I feel
are the fractures in the flesh that covers the only me
I’ve ever known.
it’s those exact fissures
that let the light hiding inside me
and cover in gold
everyone that found enough beauty in the cracks
to stand close.
Tyler Knott Gregson
Allowing someone to love us is equally difficult as actually loving someone.
At least once, you’ve likely looked around and thought, “I don’t understand why you love me.” You are being loved without feeling deeply deserving of love. This is normal. It comes from the very nature of unconditional love, in which we are loving in a way that is more than baseline requirements. We are taking the risk to offer a love that is otherwise not needed. I’m convinced this is one of the more powerful feelings we can experience as humans.
I think a lot about isolation.
One can become so well-practised at being unloved that they cannot accept it. When someone genuinely loves them, the only thing they know how to do is push them away. They cocoon themselves in a false security that seems impenetrable. Unbreakable.
And we are put on earth a little space
That we may learn to bear the beams of love
And these little black bodies and this sun-burnt face
Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove – Blake
In order to endure love, we must make ourselves vulnerable. We must risk loving without the certainty that it won’t be rejected or exploited. We must love wildly, until we forget where we are in space, and what the date is, and who will judge us.
It is a long road.
Some days, I yearn to s t o p for a moment and rely on my subconscious. But I know what is waiting eagerly for me to call upon it for guidance, to offer some false sense of comfort or security. It is these times that I am most vulnerable. It is these times I am leaving a crack for it to sneak through – I’ve seen it seep inside these cracks, creating ripples that reach wider and wider, until I can no longer tell where it ends and I begin.
If I make myself still, I can hear the battle on these days. Even at night I dream of war, sometimes. It used to require no more than a whisper for me to listen – and I could do nothing but comply, and follow, and be sorry. Each day was the same, only with less of my own power and fewer weapons.
Now, I have a choice. I can choose to call upon myself instead and I can choose to listen. I can defend those moments of quiet – when I can stand and relish in moments that I am free.