Even as a little girl I liked to be independent. If I fell down, no one dared pick me up because I insisted on doing so myself..and I’d wait to be out of sight before the tears would flow.
Why? I don’t know. I had the most loving mother a child could hope for, but still I kept her, and everyone, at arms length. As an adult I’m much the same. I encapsulate myself in an impenetrable shield that is lowered for a select few. My children possess immunity, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Recently, I let someone in and I got hurt.
It’s not like it was the first time I experienced grief. The death of my oldest daughters father when I was nineteen, numerous miscarriages, including the twin I was carrying at the time of my third full-term pregnancy, the process of divorce, and even being rammed with a car by a crazed ex…I could continue, but, hey, I’m not the only one who has experienced tough times.
Lately, the thought of having someone close to me, to offer support and hug me tight when times are tough, has been uncharacteristically alluring…well, maybe not after the run in with the car. Battered and bruised, I was too sore to be hugged. Ibuprofen, paracetamol, bed and the melodic voice of Jeff Buckley suited me fine that night…the whole week, in fact.
This morning I indulged in meditation, and came to the conclusion that it’s okay to only let a select few close to me. And, hitting rock bottom doesn’t always have to be a bad thing. Since, the storm has cleared and, despite the lingering hurt, I feel a lot better. I even drew up an itinerary for when I’m in London. It’s onwards and upwards for me, and in no need of a man to escort me there!
Here’s to brighter days!