Most days, I don't know the difference between left and right. I need to know a mile before I must take a turn, and I substitute 80% of my weekly meals with coffee. This all is to say that I am flawed. There are pieces of me that drive people absolutely nuts, and friends insert their own perspective, thinking if I can change just one or two things, then maybe my shoulders wouldn't be up to my ears, in stress knots.
There are so many things I do incorrectly.
But I think I do one thing correctly, I love with depth.
I have always been the mother in my friend group. In college, I would leave my apartment unlocked so friends would nap on my couch while I was in class. If you had a bad day, I didn't even ask for permission before bringing you hot tea. My best friend called me in the middle of the night sobbing about her engagement, and I left -- with forty dollars in my bank account, I figured out how to be savvy enough to get to Texas in record time so that I could hold her.
Perhaps that is my other flaw too, I often love people in a box.
I think, if love surrounds them on four sides, then they are safe. They will never feel pain, and I can't hurt them, and maybe they won't ever leave. The love we pour in, would just surround us because the walls of the box would hold it all in.
And every single time, I forget there are holes.
Because we are human, so there have to be holes.
When we were in high school, we knew the generations of hurt that sowed together our bones, giving our veins maps. Although optimistic, we knew that no matter how much we meditated and self medicated, and prayed, and went to therapy there were still things so deeply rooted within us, from our families that we would never be able to rid of them, but we hoped to change them. For our daughters. For our sons.
He hit me, because his dad hit him, but if we loved him hard enough it would change.
She slept with everyone's boyfriends, because her mother chose bad men time and time again but who the hell were we to judge.
We promised we would heal one another.
The thing about promises is, the context doesn't matter.
It didn't matter that I was only fifteen and life still hadn't happened to me yet.
Now, at twenty-three and after being gutted, people still rely on me to keep that promise.
So the box fills and fills and fills, but the love isn't there anymore.
Because I can't do it anymore.
The people in the box, jump out. They no longer want to be in the box if they aren't the ones receiving the love. What I once thought was a collective love surrounding us within the four walls, was really sourced one way.
Maybe I was presumptuous because I didn't offer up front my own woes, "I am going to fill you up with so much love, and hope you don't leave. 50% of me is made up of loneliness, because he left before I was born, so please stay. Stay and I will love you."
Not only was I fifteen and untouched by the world, but I forgot that people change. Their shape changes, and the box no longer fits them. Our love, no longer fits them. And although we thought we would heal one another's wounds and set the course for a happier adulthood, we forgot to realize that growing pains aren't only when we are adolescents.
We will continue to grow.
Outgrowing one another.
Just because your love might be deep,
that doesn't assure it can fill the holes.