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I am done confusing chemistry and alignment, forever with just a karmic lesson, but mostly I am just done with being hurt by love.
Love actually isn’t supposed to hurt. It’s not supposed to cause pain, confusion, or those moments when you feel sick because you don’t know what to do next. It shouldn’t make you question yourself or leave you wondering if you’re enough.
But somewhere along the way, I, and likely you, have forgotten this.
We’ve continued patterns of our childhood because it’s easier to accept the pain we know than the joy we haven’t yet received.
It’s comfortable to work for love when it’s never been freely given and that is where we all go wrong. Thinking that there is only one kind of love. That to feel affection, chemistry, the desire for closeness means that we’ve found the very thing we’ve always needed. Instead of questioning what we actually feel or why we feel it.
The truth is love is a drug that soothes the inner child.
It makes us feel like we’re finally worthy, loved, and being chosen in ways that we have previously only dreamed. And yet, the twisted truth is that that’s not love at all. That’s wounded love, birthed from the depths of the karma that we’ve tried to outrun. The darkness of what we’ve ignored meshed with the improbable hope of our idealism. This is what I am done with.
But yet, it’s also where I am still learning, and maybe you are too.
Learning the space between knowing I no longer want a wounded love, but uncertain if a healing one actually exists or if all love is transactional to a degree. This is where I’ve surrendered to. Where I’ve spent long evenings under the milky way pondering; what does love look like when you’ve actually healed your inner child yourself?
When you no longer need that woman to mother you in the ways you weren’t. Or no longer needed to be chosen by that man to prove that you were worthy of your father’s love. And most peculiarly, what does it mean when you actually are totally at peace and comfortable in your aloneness. Not in a way that keeps out what you most want, but because you’re no longer wanting.
And then I wonder, is that another state of love? Is wanting tied to wounding? And if we actually give to ourselves what we most want, do we actually ever want again?
I feel into the questions and the spaces that are created around my heart, though I’m not quite convinced I need the answers. I think that’s another interesting turn that life takes once we reach a certain level of healing. The awareness that knowing nothing can be the most honest thing we can do as humans. To feel or think but hold space for all that is uncertain.
Because while I ask these questions I don’t know if there are answers, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am done with a wounded love.
In playing the game of performance art in relationships where I hold back so you lean in, or pretend I can’t do something on my own so you step up. I can no longer wait for you to move so then I know how to orbit around you, because I’ve become my own planet.
Something akin to Venus or perhaps Jupiter. Or maybe even at times, more similar to Pluto, a planet so far out that many don’t even know what it is, as it’s rarely seen. But that is the thing about healing; I think when we see ourselves maybe we don’t actually need to be seen in the same way by others.
Because I exist whether I’m seen or not. I love whether I am loved by another, and I am fulfilled even if I am the only one pouring into my cup.
The conundrum of love, and not fully knowing what it feels like until we can be so comfortable without it, is that we no longer even know if we want it.
And if you’re still here, still reading, feeling this in your heart, then perhaps too, you’ve become your own planet. Your own space away from space, and are so comfortable on your own, you’re no longer sure if someone else can add to it.
Though, as I smile mischievously into the afternoon sun, that doesn’t mean I don’t hope someone doesn’t try.
Because I’ve seen love through wounds, but there have been glimmers. Glimmers of love through healing, freedom and passion and the spaces where we can overlap knowing we’re not together because our wounds bind us but because our healing has finally allowed us to receive what we’ve always deserved.
A love that won’t hurt.
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