It would have been too easy to write about trying not to talk about the ironing pile due to topple off the ironing board if a zypher passes by, or the stash of gorgeous materials that need to be sewn together and transformed into beautiful quilts, or the fact that I haven’t cooked a meal in so many months I don’t know where the pots and pans are kept. Yes, it would be easy to side step the issue that came to mind when this prompt floated into my in box this morning.
But, that is not my way …
Therefore I am going to be true to myself, and I know Kat will understand, and write what is on my heart when I think of the words … I sm trying not to talk about. I have taken a smidgen of blogger’s licence and altered one word in today’s reflection. These are things I cannot talk about but they do take a lot of head space and over which I ruminate.
The temptation is to feel we are the only ones experiencing emotions so intense and heavy with foreboding that our fear is they will overwhelm us and we will come undone. Like the seams of that loved teddy bear the one that has been loved in all the ways it is possible to love.
Sometimes that love is truly gently, kind and we are treated with a softness that comes from compassion and empathy. Someone has walked a similar path and gets where we are at. We don’t need to explain, they know. It’s a precious way to be loved.
Then the love that is torrid, harsh yet ever present. Sibling rivalry would fall into this place of love. Things said and done because we need to know our place in the pack. It is here we learn that no matter what has been said or done we are still connected, we’re loveable and ok despite our stuff ups. We may not “like” our sibling, but the love, always, deep. Blood thicker than water.
The love we hold for our children. Fierce, protective and nurturing. The only motivation is that they are safe, and happy and know they are loved beyond measure. It is also the love that melts our hearts, brings us to tears, renders us the most vulnerable. No mountain too high, no river too wide. Whatever it takes we will push through to ensure our child’s safety and well being.
And then there is the enduring love of friendship. The phone call at just the right moment and the moments of pure serendipity. When we need a hug and they’re on the doorstep. The moments when we have lost our way completely and our song becomes tuneless. They remember the words and the melody when we have lost ours. Their love laughs the loudest because they know our funny and lead us back to where the funny and the healing can work their magic.
When I think of The Moth (The Man of the House) I feel that our love covers all those already written about. He is my friend, lover, carer, husband, life partner, confidante, and go to person when the world closes in on me. He is always there. He is dependable in his availability.
In all these loves we are the common denominator, and into all these we bring our humanity. Humanity flawed. Flawed from experience, struggles, and poor role models in childhood. Yet humanity triumphant in our experiences, our times of success, achievement, and the ways in which our kindnesses shine through all the times we get it wrong.
So today I am trying not to think about all the ways I have loved too harshly, fiercely and caused misunderstanding and emotional pain. I am trying not to think about the times I did not act from a love motivation but rather from my own place of hurt. I am trying not to think about the pain I have inflicted unwittingly.
I am trying not to think about how much damage my unthoughtfullness has caused over the years. I am trying not to think about how many times I have alienated people who sought to draw close but because of my fear of being vulnerable I have pushed them away. I am trying not to think about all the opportunities lost where I could have been a better person and missed the mark.
Today I am trying not to talk about the so many ways in which my total awesomeness shines out from under the moments when I am a complete douche bag.
As a crafter and once maker of teddy bears I know all to well what the big zig zag stitching in a different colour conceal; the place from where the stuffing is about to explode but tightly sewn back, and the bulge that remains. There are those who tell us that the places where scars heal have more skin and hence possibly strengthen our bodies in those places. Today I hope that is true.