I never really knew what love was. I grew up feeling lost and entitled to things that I now know my parents weren’t capable of providing. Things that were not just monetary, but also what was expected of a family unit.
We were a fair-weather religious family, which meant we would only go to Church when it felt as if we were being judged by others. And maybe that is where my concept of Spirit and love initially began. That Spirit’s only purpose was to alleviate what others thought of you, there was no divine reason for existence. Or that love can come and go, it isn’t permanent, and you definitely don’t have it for yourself. An unfortunate concept to grow up with but one that I see reflected in other’s eyes. I knew even as a small child that I wasn’t alone in feeling this way. When you’re raised from one abuse to another, you begin to search them out. Abusers love an easy target.
Even though all my experiences, I still held the belief that this is what I deserved. That Spirit didn’t matter unless it gained you something, that love didn’t truly exist. I didn’t begin to believe in a more prominent pattern until I had my daughter at the age of 19. I was so naïve, so desperate for the meagre scraps of love that I was shown. I thought raising a child with someone would heal that part of me. It didn’t, but it did give me hope. I would carry on regardless of anything.
I would make myself into something worthy enough for this daughter to cling to and depend upon. I went to school at night and worked during the day. I moved from company to company, refining and revising my CV. I was determined. I replaced love and Spirit with work and accomplishments. Even when my mother passed and my father took over our house and kicked my younger brother and us out, I still persevered.
I gave up everything, including myself, to put a roof over our heads and make ends meet. But in all of this was I truly happy? No, the therapeutic high of accomplishing a goal still didn’t fill the emptiness. A workaholic is still an addict… just a more socially acceptable one.
It was in this darkness that I met my husband. He has shown me what love really is. I’ve hurt him, time and again, trying to replicate what I was raised to believe. What I thought was true, that love always leaves, isn’t correct at all. Real love accepts and grows, it flows around you but it cannot leave you. And in the comfort of my husband’s love, I have begun to accept the love of myself. That I am worthy. That Spirit has guided me all along down this path, it gave me the tools to cope. Spirit provided everything I could have needed and will continue to if I only trust in its power and its grace. Now that I am on a path of soulful healing, I cannot explain the immense and overwhelming gratitude I feel to be privy to it. I trust in Spirit and the love it has shown me, and the love I have shown myself.
love and light