That reach…that ever-present longing for what feels apart from myself…

I used to live reaching everyday. I used to pine for approval and safety on a moment-to-moment basis, but no more. Now those feelings are fewer, but they still happen. They rise up quick and sharp and take me over with surprise and because I am still so new to this, I falter. I fall back on what I used to do. I look for love to make me feel safe. I look for it where it will never be found.

Every once in a while I am overtaken by insecurity so fiercely, it shakes me. The real me lies back in a shadow while a frantic, needy shell sits up and looks. And all of a sudden I am a little girl afraid that I am not enough. So this is what I do. I go on a search for things that I think will tell me I’m good and worthy.

Invariably though, it’s late. My kids and my boyfriend are asleep. My friends are busy. So I go to Facebook, to Twitter, to Pinterest, to Instagram. Nothing.

I search my phone for a pretty picture of myself. Ah, I found one. But oh, my arms look big and I’m barely smiling. It won’t do.

The discomfort is growing and I cannot seem to find anything to abate it. Food and wine only make it worse.

I’m spiraling.

I want to write, but what can I say?

Words seem vain.

Nothing’s working.

Until finally I break.

Finally, I feel all of the feelings that I have tried so hard to elude. I cry the ugly cries because that feeling of being separate is so painful. That feeling of being cut off from Source is the sum of all the hurt in the world. It is an echo of a lie we all believe.

And as soon as I am willing to see…as soon as I am willing to give all the discomfort away to something Higher, I begin to settle. I begin to let go. I begin to remember.

The Love I seek lives in me.

It’s hard to go looking there though, because it means navigating the uncomfortable feelings too. But it’s there. It is who I am, really. Even when I do foolish things…even when I am nasty…even when I am selfish. It’s there. And if I could resolve for anything this New Year, it would be this:

May I be more willing to see what is within and not be afraid.

And I may add:

May I take it all less seriously.

Because the Irish in me wants to cloak it all in black veils. But the girl in me wants to laugh.

So let us laugh.

And let us love.

Let us reach within.


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