Love wide. Love long. Love high. Love deep. It’s fitting. I was trying to figure out what lessons and reflections I’d ponder on as I turned 38. Every thought always went back to love.
There’s this struggle that I have with vulnerability. It’s a value I’ve been having a tug-of-war with now for a year. Last year I learned that it’s okay to be vulnerable, and little by little, the controlling part of me relaxed. But in the past few months, the past few weeks, the controller part of me has been rearing its ugly head again. I’d rather have things done my way, otherwise I feel like a whole thing would collapse. Or I feel it won’t go the right way. I don’t like feeling weak. I don’t like having to ask for help. I feel like I’m not good enough when I can’t handle things on my own.
And that’s not healthy. Because I know I need other people to get me through things, to accomplish tasks fairly. Most importantly, I need to accept that it’s okay to feel weak. I can’t be Superwoman all the time. It feels good to be Superwoman, don’t get me wrong, but there are days when I am very, very, very tired.
So I’ve been (re)learning to let go and love more. To listen better, listen deeper. Love better, love deeper.
What would love do? Love would be vulnerable. Love wouldn’t mind if I rested and let others do the work first. To love wide, love long, love high, love deep… it’s a lesson not only in a lesson in loving others, but a lesson in learning how to love yourself.