“Its meaning is felt more than it is clearly expressed. It’s called the greatest virtue. It’s love”. - South University
For January we discussed what we are, who we are, what we want, where are we going, and what are we going to do about it.
For February, I want us to expound on that and talk about how all that directs where we choose to find love: whatever that means, right?
I crave it. With all of my being. I want to express it without apology. I want to showcase it to the world. I want her to feel it. I want her to tell her friends about it. I want her to tell me about it.
And, I don’t know what it is.
I mean, how can I. Idk what love “looks like”. If there is such a thing. I don’t know where you can buy it. Or see it on display even.
So, it is something that seems to be defined. Yet, I was not there when it was defined. I find myself wanting to cram in what I feel into this already established box. Frustrated most times. Because it is not working. Smh.
I can remember my earliest moment of wanting “it”.
I was 3. It was midnight or so. My mom and I walked from a party she was attending. She wanted to continue her night so she proceeded to tell me that we would walk to the curb, on the other side of the street, and when she got about a block away, I could walk home. I was 3. It was midnight. Pitch dark.
She had told me to run to the back door. Which meant I would have to run between us and the neighbor (their was no fence). And no moon light shined in that space. Dark. I reached the back door banging the hell out it.
After what seemed like eternity, I somehow broke a square piece out of the door and crawled in as the rest of the family woke up and met me.
I was crying hysterically. Frightened. And at peace to have made it inside with everyone else. Safe. Two emotions experienced simultaneously.
And MY definition of love began. I wanted to feel safe. I damn sure did not want to be abandoned and left to fend for myself. I wanted to be hugged. I wanted someone to explain what just happened to me. I wanted someone to see me as I was; a child. And treat me so. And then there was a sprinkle of uneasiness associated with it.
So, my search began. A search to make sense of that night. And to do everything not to repeat it. I knew that was not something I wanted to experience again. It was not love, for me.
Even at 3, I knew what love was not. Whether I mentally acknowledged it at the time or not. This was not something I wanted ever again. And yet, I think I repeated that pattern too many times to want to admit: running through darkness before I could be acknowledged. Screaming and banging on doors so that I could be saved. Crying so that I could be comforted.
Think about what has happened to you in your life. What image has already been painted about what love is and is not? And based on those, where have you repeated false and limiting beliefs about how you have been experiencing love in an unhealthy way?