Accepting yourself, when you can’t see anyone else who does, is the hardest.
It takes strength. It takes courage. It takes what is strongest in the entire world. I don’t know that I have the bravery to prize myself unconditionally.
Instead I remember the criticisms, rejections, speeding indifference, and loneliness of being alone, trapped inside a form I didn’t believe deserved love. The most beautiful souls would implore me to see an answer beyond my understanding, that I am enough to love me. And they are right. It is the only real answer.
My heart might be broken.
I cry sometimes. I have been sad for a long time. More than a year, more than two or three. For a very long time, I have been very sad.
So there are times when kindness I witness or experience causes me to cry. Friendly words, strangers’ smiles, and much needed hugs from acquaintances all bring tears to my eyes that spill down the cheeks of my face and drop off of my jawline.
Wondering why unwarranted kindness makes me cry. The most beautiful thing: generous love, kindness to strangers, undeserved and unreserved affection – the world made better by people giving their best to someone else merely crossing their path by chance.
And it hurts me enough to make me cry. It aches. Worst than bruises or a swollen head, this kindness -this thing called love – makes some crack in me that gushes out pain and the symptom is a torrent of tears.
Maybe I have a stone heart. It would make sense. I don’t have hope, don’t want a reason to keep breathing for more than a few tomorrows. I want to give up on futures, let go of hope. Let go of myself because I can’t stand the hurt I endured by refusing to let go until now.
If kindness reaches in, it will make cracks in this stone heart of mine. But even with a stone heart, I can still feel the pain. Wondering why there is this queer pain, perhaps there is still a heart of flesh and blood underneath. Maybe my heart’s hardness is just an exterior of stone. And if kindness comes inside and the stone is broken apart, my heart will begin to pump hope and love into my life once more.
What does life look like?
Certainly not addiction, compromising your values, and greed.
But, is a healthy lifestyle really worth it?
I think so. I would be a fitter weight, have a more stable mood, function better at work, sleep enough each night, feel better physically, experience less pain, and have more meaningful relationships.
But I wonder if I will be bored.
Permanently humbled is a concept a friend and I talked about today. It happens with a tremendous loss of identity and ability. Becoming disabled or crippled would be an example.
I never realized this happens because sometimes people talk about being humbled as a transitory experience. But with any transitory experience, it ends. Temporarily humbled by a setback, when you overcome it, you regain your lost pride. (Isn’t that the definition of humble: lost pride.)
But I don’t think of humbled that way anymore. I think of being humbled as when circumstances change the way you create your self-esteem, and also that of others. It is a permanent change in perspective; a shift in worldview.
Humbled is when you can’t change the circumstances surrounding you through your power but the circumstances defining you change you forever.