I want to share a bit about me and my past….but I don’t want to put it in my bio section on this blog. I want it to be able to be swept away when it’s no longer needed (which I anticipate is soon….it feels like it’ll be very soon)–I want my bio to be a living, breathing document of WHO I AM, not who I was and where I came from.
I think it’s important to share because, at this point in time, it’s the framework that I’m currently deconstructing so that I can build anew. But I don’t want my past and my hurt to be the definition of who I am now.
I was raised in a home, with a traditional nuclear family–a mom, a dad, an older sister, and a twin brother. We lived a life where our basic physical needs were met–we had a roof over our heads that provided us with warmth and shelter; we had food on the table; we had clothes on our backs to wear to school. I cannot say that things were difficult in this arena. My mom and dad worked to make sure that our physical needs were met. And they did work hard to do that. Every day they did. I have no doubt that they worked hard and they accomplished that goal. I know that it was a difficult thing for them to accomplish more often than not.
That childhood home, though we had clothes in our closet (that were always clean!) and food in our cupboards, wasn’t too much of a HOME with love and affection and support. My journey, my soul story, my forgiveness process, is starting to reveal to me that it wasn’t supposed to. The love that I learned was a very hostile, aggressive, angry, manipulative, hurtful, hateful, competitive, ‘dog-eat-dog’ love. My previous post, that posted the definition of love: PROFOUNDLY TENDER, PASSIONATE AFFECTION–a complete opposite world from the childhood home I had. They are in two different universes, honestly. There wasn’t tenderness; there wasn’t passion (in a positive sense); there wasn’t affection. There wasn’t supposed to be–my soul contract, though a continually challenging and sometimes painful one, didn’t permit a home that I adore hearing stories of. Why? I think that’s still being revealed to me, but I believe that the childhood home isn’t good or bad–it’s exactly what my soul needed in this life.
Am I writing this for sympathy or to whine and cry about it? No–I’m writing about it because it’s what I’m learning about. It’s part of my growing. I’m grateful at this new-found passion to learn WHAT love IS, what love MEANS, and HOW to love. I wouldn’t be as motivated to LEARN it and embrace and live the BEST and PUREST form of LOVE for others and myself if I didn’t grow up the way that I did.
In my about me section, I alluded to the fact that I have separated from my family of origin, at least for the time being. It wasn’t a knock-down, blow out FIGHT that caused this to come about. I came to the conclusion that for me to REALLY learn HOW to love and WHAT love means, I should wipe the slate clean. I should clear out the former definition and demonstrations so that I can make way and be completely open for a new and improved definition. I really don’t think that there was any conscious ill-intent in the ‘love’ with which I was raised….I just don’t believe it serves a healthy and helpful purpose at this point in my journey. I don’t think that I can effectively learn something new while still being surrounded by old and dysfunctional. Sometimes that’s a necessary ‘evil’. That ‘evil’ isn’t an easy route, if you maintain the current social definitions of what ‘ought’ to be.