Acceptance and Compassion

I’ve been sick for the last two weeks. My motivation plummeted, I wrote 1500 words this week, 3000 words the previous week.
I tripped over something. My boyfriend caught me. I was confused why I was suddenly in his arms. I looked back to see what I tripped over, but there was nothing there. I spent the week doubting myself and ruminating on my self-pity. Being sick, I wasn’t getting much sleep at night, tired and upset during the day.
And of course the fear. Fear of being stuck in that black, dark grave of depression. I do not want to be back in that place. Hopelessness and helplessness consumed my thoughts, my actions.
Fortunately, I have help, therapy. After my session, I stared in surprise at my results. I believe showing sadness is a weakness. I block out the pain I experience. The emotional pain. I filter it out. It is why I have never seen what trips me up. I wake up on the ground, or in his arms, confused, disorientated, lost.
He sees me falling and reaches for me. I blank it all out.
I have bursting suitcases of Acceptance and Compassion towards everyone. When it comes to myself, I am not accepting or compassionate. I don’t believe I deserve it.
My therapist asked me if it was my niece who said the things I was telling him, what would be my reaction? It hurt my heart to imagine that. I would hug her, make her a hot chocolate. Tell her it’s acceptable to feel sad. It’s a valuable emotion.
I’m capable of mothering her, but not myself?
After the session, I made myself a hot chocolate. I gave myself the time to be sick, and not feel guilty for not doing any chores. When my boyfriend came home, I explained it to him. We’ve always known I was blocked. Now, I understand the shape and purpose of my filter. In the past, I needed it. I needed to hide any sign of vulnerability from anyone who would use it against me. I don’t anymore.
I will trip over something again, more than likely find myself in his arms confused, but hopefully when I look back on my path I will see the rock that sent me flying. I will be accepting and compassionate. I will cry.

I find it poetic and romantic that I have come to this realisation this weekend. Three years ago I jumped off the cliff without any ropes or a safety net. I began my journey in France, by myself. The first six months were hell. I knew going back to Ireland was not an option. If France didn’t work out, I knew what I was going to do.
I found a family. No blood relations. People who never knew me before. People who accepted me.
Six months of hell, plus two months of finally belonging somewhere. I met my boyfriend. He is an amazing man. He is accepting and compassionate.
Here I am, writing a book, receiving my first rejection letter, writing poetry from the heart, learning and expanding my horizons, all beside my boyfriend. I support him as he supports me.

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