I’m sure in their own way, most of our parents loved us… however, how many people can say that their emotional needs were met in a way that made them truly *feel* loved?
To me, love isn’t enough. I see it more as about building a bridge towards each other so that we can actually *experience* the intention of love that is being offered. The bummer in that regard is that that’s truly hard work. Work that many either don’t seem to recognise is necessary, or perhaps don’t even believe is necessary.
Fairytales tell us that love conquers all… and as a romantic, I do believe in that. However, as mentioned… I don’t believe that love simply falls into our hands and drops our heart open like a flower. If you’re anything like me, love is terrifying. It points out every flaw, every weakness, every wound, every hope, dream and vulnerability. It makes the little girl in me believe in angels and demons both at the same time. I wish love was easy. I always wish everything was easy. Because hard stuff sucks. However, life has taught me that it’s ok for things to be difficult. I’m not particularly one to believe in “this will make you stronger” or “struggle forges diamonds” or whatever. In my eyes, it’s an acceptance of a simple reality… if I want to open my heart and allow myself to be receptive to, and give, love… I need to do the work to allow that to occur.
It’s easy to blame others. Until I look deeper. There’s always more to it… my own stuff. Always. Sometimes that realisation occurs straight away. Sometimes it takes weeks. Sometimes it takes years. And sometimes it takes the loss of something special. I’m reluctant to give up so easily these days. I’m reluctant to blame so readily these days. My heart has become so much more flexible. So much more resilient. So much more fearless. Although there’s certainly still a lot of fear, still so much struggle, I have found that as I better learn my heart, it’s much easier to listen to the hearts of others.
Opening to the enormity of what love can truly be, I realise that it doesn’t have to be defined, or trapped, or sought. In building bridges, I find those who wish to meet me there. There’s a joy in that. Building and creating something together. Understanding. Finding how we each give and receive and feel nourished by our intentions of how we love, by working towards a common goal of meeting somewhere in the space between us, and tending to it with ongoing patience, care and unity.
