I was thinking about this post, and what has happened to me in the past regarding love. To have someone say to you that you’re distant and you can’t love them is a dagger to the heart. But mortally wounded? Oh no.
I’m a human being, and a statement like that cuts to the quick. So how do you recover from such a potentially devastating wound? You are more than the wound. The person who tried to wound you may not, in their haste, realize that. But you do. You are a fully formed, fully vested human being, complex and nuanced. More than a stereotype, more than a shell that the world sees. You laugh, you cry, you smile, you ache, you wonder, you lust, you hide, you seek, you sit, you think, you act. You love. All human beings, in some form or function, love. For someone to say you can’t is to deny them their humanity and their dignity. To allow someone to say that you can’t makes you look like a goddamned fool.
The wound is not you. It does not define you. You do. The wound is a small part of you, but not all of you. How you respond to it defines you. Will you let the wound fester and scab over, leaving a scar, or will it be a fertile ground to plant something that will grow?
Many times I’ve pointed to nature as an example to follow. Take a redwood tree–strength that last throughout the years (and centuries), able to withstand most any storm that comes howling its way. Or a starfish–if it loses a point, it regenerates one.
Souls and hearts are harder to repair, I know. The beatings they sometimes take are horrific. But what excuse do you have when you hold a starfish or gaze up at a redwood.
You are made of the same stern, yet intangible, material that tree and that fish are. When will you wake up to that?
Now would be good.
I am more than the wound.