You'll Self-Sabotage Love Until You Find It In Yourself
She was going to lose him. She felt it in their last conversation—a two-hour, too long discourse that threw her off course of the dialogue that she intended it to be.
He treated her good. Great even. There was no doubt about that. But the broken part of her always found a way to self-sabotage. A deeper part of her, admittedly, didn’t believe that she deserved his love. She feared it even, despite knowing that love and fear can’t coexist.
In the midst of tearing down her walls she tore at his heart. She latched on a little too hard. With every inhale she drew from his soul hoping to fill her own. With every exhale she released her doubts, insecurities, and fears, and, for dear life, gulped down his compliments, praises, and words of wisdom. It was an uneven exchange.
He told her to look into the mirror. To find love within herself. To let go of her hurt. And she did. She stared intently into her dark eyes, but when the tears began to well up she had to turn away. She couldn’t quite face the dark parts of her that had been hidden behind cute selfies, funny Snapchat filters, and witty Twitter remarks. She couldn’t admit to herself that her yearning for love came from a part of her that was starving for acceptance, validation and confirmation that she was good enough, more than enough.
She couldn’t admit to herself that her yearning for love came from a part of her that was starving for acceptance.
She did her best to avoid conflict, but then, that too was the problem. She was always avoiding reality, choosing to live in the fallacy that she was okay, that she was ready, that she was whole. That’s what got her here in the first place, in a relationship that she wasn’t ready for. She was thirsty, and he was Fiji—deep, refreshing, supreme.
She thought it was love only to learn that it was lack, for love of herself and of him would’ve resulted in a different outcome. She would’ve waited, she would’ve respected. She realized that when she picked up The Mastery of Love and began to see parts of herself in each chapter—“The Wounded Mind,” “The Loss of Innocence,” they all spoke to parts that were damaged before she even had the opportunity to understand who she was, and accept who she wasn’t. She let the world become her mirror. She let the absence of positive relationships harden her heart and outside voices whisper her failures. She allowed pain to mask her beauty.
She was sleeping on her truth, and she was ashamed that it took the possibility of loss to wake her up. She had gotten so comfortable in her own dysfunction that she couldn’t even see herself clearly.
Yet, surprisingly, a feeling of hope began to stir inside of her. She knew she couldn’t take back the past, but she could change the future. As long as breath was in her body there was still time to repair what was broken. An excavation, her friend called it. A revival, she declared.
But it was her choice. Not his. Not the world’s. Hers, and hers only to make. And she decided. And she let go of the fear of love and being loved. She chose to be real with herself and do the work, and become the very thing that she lacked.
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