“When love and intimacy approach,
the real truth about how I feel
rises up:
disgusted, terrified.
I fear I will be snuffed out —
the real me, unwelcome.
Only an object is permitted here.
But wait…
I know enough now to remember:
these are illusions —
trees at dusk in the forest
taking strange, towering forms
like dark monsters.
So I zoom out.
I back up.
It’s just energy —
old illusions from the past…”
I see them now
as smoky colors,
clouds of fear
I once thought could annihilate me.
I can’t run.
I can’t bury myself to escape them.
I’ve tried that before.
Now, I breathe them in.
Breathe, and breathe, and breathe…
until my breath grows gentle
in the knowingness
that I no longer need to be afraid.
Because I am here.
I’ve got me.
And I will not let go.
Yes — me.
No longer allowing myself
to be destroyed,
or suffocated.
The real me.
Me — the perfectly loving parent to myself,
who has always been there…
even when trauma could not see it.
And so, as love approaches,
as I let what I’ve judged as ugly
and what is spectacular
be seen
by another who wants to love me —
one who is capable of that —
I breathe
when those fear clouds return.
I breathe them in
to show them I am no longer afraid.
I breathe
as the wise one,
the loving self-parent,
the compassionate adult,
the safe space
that I am…
And I let myself
be loved.
