How am I different?

it's never too late SOM

It shouldn’t have had to be this much work just to be normal.  It shouldn’t have been so hard to be noticed or loved in a positive way.

–Michelle Piper

And yet, it was, and is.

When I read that in an email from Michelle Piper about narcissistic mothers a couple of weeks ago, it just hit me in the chest. And as tears start to form in my eyes, I know why I haven’t wanted to blog for so long. It’s hard to face the chasm that had been formed between me and the people I love for so long, and how much I bridged that gap.

But it’s tiring.

But that quote just summed up everything. It’s been so much work. It’s been so hard.

The email talked about how children of narcissistic mothers can look at how easily people can bring love into their lives, and how we have to work to just get to normal.

So an exercise that Piper offers is to think about what would have life been like if I had had the healthy parenting and mentoring that I needed. I’ll share that with you.

Right now, I could say that I wouldn’t have to end friendships and relationships because of me trying so hard. Every once in a while, I will find myself in some relational contortion that doesn’t look like relating. It looks like pain. And then, I have to just let go, in order to stay sane.

So instead of having to bend myself into someone that I’m not, I could have had healthier relationships throughout my life and avoided unhealthy ones altogether.

And that’s honestly the biggest thing–avoiding pitfalls. Maybe by having less unhealthy relationships, I could have had healthier ones, longer lasting ones.

Most likely, I’d already have my own family since so much of my 20s and 30s has been a very long healing journey that I’m probably at the end of (finally). The prime of my life has been spent healing old wounds. A lot of wisdom comes from those wounds, but it seems like such a waste of my time and my youth.

By having a healthier sense of self, maybe my career trajectory with writing would have been more forthright. My parents knew I wrote and spoke with passion, but they never cared to nurture that within me. I had to go back and do that myself.

Maybe I’d be a much better, more successful writer by now. Maybe I wouldn’t be financially struggling as much as I have been. Maybe I’d be a richer person–not in money, but in depth and experience. Maybe I wouldn’t be as afraid and as tired as I am now.

I am 39, almost 40, and I feel like right now, I’m just starting to get this whole life thing–and I don’t mean that in a mid-life crisis way. Just in a life really doesn’t have to be this hard. Love and hope and peace and security are all out there for me, and are also within.

The good thing is–there’s still time for me to have everything I’ve mentioned. I’m not dead yet. I’m not a lost cause. But I can mourn the woman I should have been or could have been. I’m grateful that I am here, right now–even if it’s brimming with disappointment. The disappointment will fade. The wounds are better understood now, so they can heal.

I don’t believe in the idea that as souls we choose the family we are born into. It sounds like fancy spiritualized victim blaming. Would billions of people choose poverty? Slavery? Abuse? Look, I’m a Capricorn. I love life challenges, but I’m not a masochist. This lack of parental love, affection, and guidance is not (primarily) about my soul’s growth–it’s about the lack of soul growth in my parents. It’s infuriating and saddening–there’s nothing really noble about it. That’s a spiritual bypass from the truth.

The truth is, you play the hand you’re dealt. If you’re dealt a great hand, I hope you play it well. If you have a shitty hand, I hope you play it well, too. I’m fortunate to have been born in this time, with all these psychological and spiritual tools which are available to me, with the mind and will that I have, so I can play my own shitty hand.

It could have been worse, but it could have been so much better…

 

A buyer’s market

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Straight ladies, it’s a buyer’s market–and we’re the buyers.

I had this thought after talking to a Virgo friend about yet another love interest of mine that went bust. At least I’m cycling closer and closer to the Truth. But as a Cancer moon, it’s been wearing on me.

This year, three times, feeling so close. Three times, I’ve been dead wrong.

The one thing I hate being wrong about is Love.

I had this thought about it being a buyer’s market this morning, in the bathroom–inspiration always hits there and in the kitchen for me.

Why am I the one doing all the emotional contortionism and intuitive gymnastics? Womendom has evolved light years ahead of mankind, and many times, I’m fed up at this large, cavernous gap of understanding between straight men and women. I can’t, and won’t, tolerate it.

Women are everything. We’re great spouses, partners, bosses, workers, siblings, friends, lovers, homemakers, mothers, community leaders, entrepreneurs, innovators, healers, intuitives, guides, hostesses, chefs, nurses–you name it! There are many times I hope that over time, men are deleted from the human gene pool altogether. Why men?

And I don’t mean to bash men. I don’t have to. Men bash themselves, with violence, and we’re caught in the wake of it. The imbalance of kindness is stark. So many of us have been physically, emotionally, and spiritually harmed by men. So many of us don’t survive our encounters with men.

In light of this, I feel chagrined that I ever have felt that I needed to do any extra anything when it comes to men and dating. In my years of near misses, I was overworking my intuition, reading into imaginary or dead and rotten tea leaves.

I may have been left on the shelf way too long, covered in two inches of dust, sprinkled with copious amounts of invisibility. But. I know the white hot, laser-focused interest of a man. It’s very hard to ignore, that searing heat.

I don’t need to convince anyone of my awesomeness. Men need to convince me that they are worthy of me and my time.

I’m saying this at the bottom of the empty well of my life. On the outside, I look like a failure. I’m an underemployed writer with no local community. I’m juggling my bills, and not that well. I am always dropping one ball. I haven’t felt attractive in a while as I’ve been a hyperhomebody. If I’ve had any game, it’s out of date.

Even in this sphere of inertia, even in the disturbing stillness of my life, even as I rub more sleep out of my eyes–I know that I’ve been acting like men are some scarce resource. And well, good people in general seem to be in short supply.

On top of that, loneliness will make you feel like you’re worthy of whatever floats by, as if you don’t have any standards of decency. It can distort your self-image, making you think there’s something wrong with you.

There’s nothing wrong with you.

I can go on about being your own best friend, but this is not that post. Self-love is important, but so is community. We are social beings. The longing to hear that “me, too.” It’s why I’m a writer–ironically, because it can be a lonely profession, being alone in your thoughts.

As Cuffing Season comes and goes, just know that, as a woman, you’d better not fucking settle, not even with crushes. If you’re crushing hard on some unattainable, emotionally distant dude, look at what else is going on in your life. What are you running from? Address that, head on, as bravely as you can.

A crush is only anticipatory coping. But I’m not 100% anti-crush. I’m not dead. Cary Fukunaga can always come into my life and rescue me. But it is your energy, going from you to another source, in one way, going into a void. It could be energy you could use to serve you, to create your dream, to heal you, to liberate you.

This week (I think it was yesterday), I took my selenite wand, and, with Archangel Michael, I cut cords from any man I had even the slightest crush on (not Cary, of course! But everyone else!). I’m a (mostly) blank slate now. It’s so strange, because there’s always some calamity I’m trying to escape in my life. I admit, though–sometimes it’s nice to think about someone else. But for me, my tender Cancer moon gets way involved, way too involved, clutching with her little crab claws. And then, it’s torture. It’s suffering. It’s not a mental break.

So now what? I rest. For me, those messages of Love coming are still coming through. I can delight in that. I can knock off all that fucking, unnecessary efforting. I can delight that I won’t have to read into anyone’s actions anymore.

Well, we did talk for a while. And he asked me how I was.

What did that like on my tweet mean?

I swear on a stack of Bibles he was looking at me.

This is all work that I shouldn’t be doing.

I loathe this inner dialogue. It is the mental masturbation of desperation that never comes to any sort of climax. As women, we’re trained and socialized to be hypersensitive to other people and their emotions. Most of the time, it is to our detriment–we start ignoring what our intuition is saying to us, about us: real information that we can use.

And maybe my intuition is right, about all of the encounters I’ve had. But in my very earthbound world (I say this as a double Capricorn), if you’re not going to really act, if you’re not going to ask, to make the big gesture, to say the words, to do all the things that I’m willing to do–well, it’s all conjecture. And if you’re too afraid to do that work, of being present, of being vulnerable, of daring greatly to connect, then you’re definitely not worthy of my time. I won’t eat those emotional bread crumbs on a trail to nowhere.

Earlier this year, I definitely had a taste of kindness that felt refreshingly balanced, even innocent. Maybe there were strings attaching and forming–but I had to leave. Still, though, in the end, nothing happened. Those strings just dropped into the abyss of inaction.

And it drove me crazy, because I wanted more. And that’s not bad. But it was more of a quick life lesson, a tutorial, than a commencement of a relationship (where there would be oodles more lessons and tutorials. It’s not like learning ever ends).  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with whetting your appetite for the truth and beauty of kindness.

So, in being “wrong” about love, over and over–it means I’m learning what it isn’t. Each time I’ve gotten a 9 on the bullseye, I’ve gained more information into what I want, and what I don’t want. I’m improving my accuracy. I’m going to get a 10 really fucking soon.

This spills out into other relationships, too. As a Capricorn, I believe that I really work hard at all my relationships–usually too hard, even if I enjoy the effort. So much of my energy over the years was returning to me untouched, untapped, unwanted. I’ve had to be ruthless in cutting off those connections, because I will keep caring with an unintentional arrogance, as if my caring can change someone if they don’t want to be the friend or lover I want them to be. Even deities don’t have such powers.

Well, I’m humbled now. And I’m worn out.

Exhaustion: it’s a good place to start over, on your back, panting, maybe in some pain, palms up in surrender. Breathe. Peer into the darkness. You have the perspective of the night sky now, where Venus is shining bright under a crescent waxing moon. You can reimagine what your life can look like, in the community of two that you’ve been maybe even a little desperate for–and sure, you can even admit that yourself, the desperation. You don’t have to let that dictate your choices, though. You are loving the hell out of yourself now. You know better. You have adorned and clothed yourself in your own love. Your own love can now keep your safe. Your own love can keep you from choosing people who are not for you.

When Love comes calling, and you know it will, you will never have to question its message or intention. You will recognize and know Love.

It’s a buyer’s market. You can be choosy and choose yourself.

Oh, Mother

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I wasn’t going to post today, but it seems like this week is a week of revelations and breakthroughs, so I’m just gonna roll with it.

Last night, I had two good conversations with two women (A Scorpio Sun and a Scorpio Moon–so Scorpio season isn’t over for me). One convo started talking about holiday plans which delved into family matters, because of course, it’s the holidays–makes sense. We both have water signs for mothers (Cancer for the Scorpio and Pisces for me, the Capricorn), and  I’ve called my mom a fire fish because she has very little water in her chart besides her sun sign. The only water I see is Chiron…in Scorpio. Everything else is fire and air. I’m not sure about her ascendant. Right now, it looks like Virgo, so sun opposite ascendant. Doesn’t seem to fit.

I digress, but it’s important to note the lack of emotion there, because this is at the heart of my breakthrough. As you know, it’s been tough being unemployed–not circumstantially, but emotionally. It’s been very triggering in terms of not feeling supported, of feeling abandoned. It feels like mostly everyone in my life has taken a step or two back. I feel like I am traversing this period of my journey alone. Yes, yes, we are never alone in the Universe, but, whether my aloneness is true or not doesn’t matter for how I feel. All of this feels like an overreaction. It seems that the unemployment spell has been a catalyst to get to the heart of these persistent feelings I’ve had.

This time around, I’m really seeing the frustrating dynamic between me and my mother. I want to be nurtured and doted on, but she has never been really a cuddly mother–to me or my brother. But with others, she’s so supportive and adoring.

When I see fire and air in a natal chart like hers–as a wannabe astrologer–and I couple it with my own experiences with her, I see a go-getter, not a stay-at-home mom, which she was. Although with her Jupiter in Sag (which is Jupiter’s home) in her 4th house–the nurturing for home should be there for her family. Still, I truly believe motherhood grounded this jet pilot from soaring high. She’s basically said as much, which was hurtful to hear. I had even forgotten she said that to me until this morning.

This all started to hit me earlier this month in a phone conversation with my mom. I had been calling her every Sunday at around 3pm. Lately, because she does work so hard, she had started to doze off on me. The last phone call I had before she called me this week, I just felt a cold wall between us, a wall that had always been there. Friends of mine have been a lot more compassionate about my time down here than she has. I have wanted to focus on the good things, on her supporting me financially in grad school and beyond. But what I really wanted, what I’ve always wanted, was her encouragement and support.

I stopped calling.

She called me this week to see how I was doing, but went on to talk about what was going on with her, in detail. And my parents always treated me like this, like I was their living journal. Still, maybe I’m a weirdo for thinking that if my child was in some financial crisis, I wouldn’t wait almost 2 weeks to call her.

(I know I’m not a weirdo.)

What’s sad is, I don’t know what she would say in support of me. Maybe you have some rote phrases your mom or dad would say to you if you were facing tough times.

“We are so proud of you.”

“You got this, babygirl.”

“You will get through this. We love you so much.”

“We’ll always be here for you.”

It’s honestly like writing really bad, cliched fiction. I don’t know what parental words of support sound like, feel like, look like.

It’s really interesting to be a double Capricorn and see my parents, two career people, and think–parenthood was not your calling. I get it, more than they know. And I want kids, way more than they ever did.

So, yes, maybe marriage for then (quincunx realness–Pisces mom, Leo dad), but not kids. Or, maybe not kids so soon. They just weren’t really emotionally there for me. We all were leading our own separate lives. I can let my dad off the hook about this more because at least he has a chronic mental health issue. But my mother? Great childhood, great life–

And I got in the way of it.

And of course, this has been internalized, deeply. Don’t take up space. Don’t ask for help. Don’t think that you deserve good things. Don’t think anyone will really just want you just because of who you are. I honestly have no idea how I’ve even made it this far basically on no gas. On a holiday for family get-togethers (and well, a weird commemoration of genocide), it’s strange but almost fitting to embrace the idea, and maybe the fact, that my parents didn’t really want me. Maybe my brother, but not me. The only benefit of the doubt I’ll give is that Pluto in Leo (the Baby Boomer generation) folks are all about themselves and may also not be good at expressing pride or love or compassion to their children. Meanwhile, Pluto in Libra folks (Gen-X, Gen…not Millennial) are trying to be at peace with everyone.

There’s some weird freedom in knowing that I’ve been trying to make something fit–familial love–that was never there. When I think about my parents, I have never really felt anything. There’s just an empty space. How can you mourn something you’ve never had? Well, I did, when I spent my first Christmas birthday away from home. I could see the interconnectedness, the warmth, the caring about others’ feelings. It was the last straw that broke me into clinical depression for a few years. So at least part of me knew what I was missing. Granted, I was allegedly a daddy’s little girl but I feel like I have no psychic remembrance of that love.

I believe that my parents feel like because they clothed and fed me, and taught me the Bible, that I’m set, and they did an excellent job. Having work end for me on September 30th feels like my car, my life vehicle, has finally grinded to a halt. Today, after much frustration and angst with searching for the answer, I’m realizing what the actual problem is. It’s like a million light bulbs went on, thankfully on a dimmer. I’m not blinded. Or maybe it’s like connecting strings of Christmas lights. I had all the lights, some of them were on, and now I can see the greater design and all the connections. It’s a lot to take in.

I’m now pretty sure if I wasn’t unemployed, facing all these bills, my phone probably shutting off soon, that I’d keep trying to grind and get what I want. I mean, almost 39 years of living like this, riding the E, is impressive but also really scary.

There’s no way I can bring more love and money and whatever else into my life when I keep hoping to receive it from sources that can never give it to me.

I have known that I need to self-parent my way out of this mess, but it really hit me when I was sharing with my friends and hearing their gut-wrenching stories. I have been self-parenting out of resentment. I did deserve loving, caring parents who were on my side. So, out of sheer necessity and survival, not out of hurt, I need to be on my own side. Out of sheer necessity and survival, I have been embracing that today, and will do so moving forward.

One big thing that parents must  teach their children is to be their own person–specifically, how to self-soothe. Parents will not be there forever and their children need to know how to make it in the world without them.

Even in their authoritarian way, my parents created a dependency on them that would never be resolved. It’s like a screaming newborn who will never get picked up.

I gotta stop waiting for them to pick me up. 

Even as I type that, I’m waiting for some tsunami wall of tears to drown me. I’ve actually have been waiting for years to just break down and say, “Oh, woe is me! I’m an emotional orphan!” But I’ve been low-key grieving this since I got here.

Maybe, as I hope to have my own family, this will hit me in real, painful, pointed ways, but for now, I feel a lot of relief.

I don’t have to try to make this work.

I am not Joseph in Egypt and my family coming back to me when there’s a famine in their land.

I do not have to save them. I cannot, even if I wanted to.

The way my life has gone–it’s one of resilience against many odds. I’m proud of that and I’m tired of that. I really thought it was about the circumstances, being supremely unlucky. But it’s not. It’s the gaping hole in my chest of not really being wanted by my own parents. I adapted my life around it, creating the story that I was an unfixable, fucked up person. But that wasn’t it. None of us are perfect, but there was, and there is nothing wrong with me.

There is no deformity of my soul or some awful, impenetrable character flaw that said I wasn’t deserving of love. I just had the parents that I had who just didn’t show me love in a way I understood, nor did they teach me how to love myself.

When you feel that unloved, even when you’ve lived with that empty space your whole life, it feels like you’re a zombie. You’re alive, but you’re not really alive. When challenges come up, you take it personally. You want to implode. You want to completely disappear. You want to give up, on everything.

This really feels like a #majorkey. Or the key, to everything. The answer to the question of why I’ve felt so unsettled, so not at home on planet Earth. And I’m now I’m going to unlock every fucking thing that I can find.

As I’ve kept falling further and further down into myself, I finally feel like I can’t go any further down. That’s why I feel relieved. It means that I’m going to bounce further up than I have ever gone in my life. I may still battle with fears and dread and despair, but for me, nothing can hurt worse than parental rejection. And I’ve survived that.

I’m deserving of love, of affection, of support, of connection, and of all good things–even a job; even financial stability; even inner peace. And one day, I’ll really believe that.

(self)-abandonment

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Maybe it’s the power of suggestion, but today (Saturday), and yesterday (Friday), I was feeling so antsy-pants. So I walked it out, which I hadn’t done since I left my job that was within walking distance 3 months ago. I took the picture of these azalea blooms, which are located about halfway in my 50-something minute, 2.2 mile walk. Azaleas down here act like semi-annuals, not like the spring annuals I’m used to. It’s mid-October, and spring flowers ever bloom.

So. Anxiety. It’s not really related to the joblessness. I feel confident in that realm  of possibility in my life, as I am laboring to rest until Monday. It’s back to the last post: love.

I recognize the asynchronous development that I have with relationships. When it comes to this area of my life, I feel like a complete failure. I keep planting seeds here, for my own chosen family, my own community. Some seeds sprout. Joined groups, made acquaintances, but not any real friends. Everyone’s dance cards are full. I’m somehow at peace with that, because I know I’ve tried as hard as I could, but that there are other places to try. I look forward to trying things out when I’m more financial stable.

The anxiety I feel is rooted in knowing, somehow, that my singleton days are numbered. I’m happy about that. But I feel very vulnerable, like I’m out in open space, waiting for someone to just drop in on my head, or full-on tackle me and take me down.

Or not.

Either way, it’s been a struggle, to wrestle with my desires, try to pin them down, get the five count of victory, and then, integrate them into me. But it feels really awkward. I’m not really used to this. I skipped a lot of this in my adolescence (that’s a whole other essay). I don’t know how to be earnest about romantic relationships anymore without feeling foolish.

I think back to the first two people I fell in love with: my parents. I don’t feel bonded to either of them, really. Growing up as the firstborn, and with my brother who has developmental delays, my parents implicitly relied on me to not need them. And then I relied on that as my identity: not needed. I’m good by myself. I sublimated my desires, right into the air. I took one for the team, often. When I was 8, I gladly took one for the team when I was presented with the choice of a boy’s bike that I could pass down to my brother, or a girl’s bike. I took the boy’s bike. Thirty years later, I have no idea if I really wanted the girl’s bike, though.

When I was 17, I wanted to go on this cross-country missions trip with my youth pastor who was leaving that fall. My mom decided it was the time to go back home to West Africa and visit for a few weeks. Granted, she hadn’t been in almost 20 years at that point, since she immigrated to the States. It was assumed I’d be the woman of the house. I don’t know if I was really needed, but that summer stunk with my frustration and disappointment.

In friendships, I rarely ask for help, to the point that asking for help felt shameful for me, and when I’m forced to, the compassion I am hoping to receive…it seems to come drip by drip. It’s not that I’m not grateful, but I feel the undercurrent of the assumption, that I’m gonna be just fine, that I don’t need help. Mentally, it’s frustrating because I know that’s not true. Yet I’m the one who has been passing out those propaganda leaflets. “Be my friend! Low drama! No need to even water or feed!” #DoubleCapricornProblems

As you can imagine, this dynamic doesn’t really work well in the pink fluffy cloud land of romance. Ideally, it should–hey, I’m here because I don’t need you. I like you. Let’s do life together. But, somehow, I’m still stuck in the wallpaper of my youth. Sometimes, people see me and try to pull me out. But many times, I’m still undercover, still a charming chameleon.

My time in Florida, which has been a transformative, painful experience, has also been quite disarming. In the last three years, I’ve met four disarming men, one online. I realized that the first was even in this list this week. He was like the third–said the right things at the right time, but wasn’t at all interested in carrying those words through to the real world of actions and consequences. I didn’t really realize how much that hurt until I was looking at an old journal entry right after he shut me out (three years ago), and how careless I may have been with my own heart.

Second guy, I don’t think he will ever know what he was laying down and why I was picking it up. I’ll blame his millennialness, for now. What I learned from our energetic tango was that true caring is starting to be the thing that I value most in people. I don’t think this was cowardice, why he denied the mixed signals. It was a sleeping but powerful consciousness calling me forward into a new level of spirituality (funny, we’re both ex-evangelicals)…but not for anything that would deal with him.

Fourth guy…is a set of ellipsis?

I may have said this in my last post, how I was drawn to him before I even met him, by his name. Kismet calling.

I’m still trying to figure out how I can be that authentically empathetic with people, like he was with me. I’m inspired, I don’t know if I have it in me. He should teach a class. If I could do for others what he did for me…

What’s scary is that I found that I was standing off from my own self when we met. I’ve been on a journey of self-love, like many of you reading this. It’s a lovely buzzword, and if you had some decent parents, you already have a head start. My parents weren’t at all interested in my very vast, emotional landscape, where I lived and thrived. I also was “just fine” being off by myself.

In this journey of being pro-me, I’ve gotten better about not being negative about myself. But being positive and affirmative? Outside of academia and music, I don’t know how to do that very well. So it’s like I’ve been driving in neutral for most of my life, just coasting. I’m not horrible. I’m excellent in a couple of things, and the rest of me is OK. Ordinary. Nothing to scream about. This coasting then became about survival, which I am excellent at. But this summer I realized I was doing more than surviving. I was on my way to thriving, but still had (have?) the mindset of living in extremely hostile conditions.

The fourth guy…I’m not sure what driving metaphor would work. He waved me over? He lurched me into first gear? He stood in my way and I had to slam on my brakes? All of the above?

And in a minute, I’m already going into my feelings about stuff. I had gotten so great at dreaded small talk, and now, here I am pouring my anxious heart into some new acquaintance’s hands, and he didn’t even flinch.

And it keeps happening, and then I leave the conversations not knowing anything about him and I’m flustered. And it’s two weeks later, and I feel chagrined.

I’m past survival, hooray! BUT, internally, everything wasn’t “just fine,” and he knew that. I had said so. And I hadn’t had anyone in town to talk about this. It’s all been online–and I’m grateful for Twitter. All I thought I was doing was sharing this very common professional experience of living in the gig economy. But I was coming out of the wall, so easily.

There are a lot of thoughts about this 4th person, and about myself, and I don’t know how to thread them. There’s the thread of the anticipation/dread which is pretty basic: will we ever see each other again? And that’s not my call. Dude has the digits and the email.

There’s the thread that stands out in a full moon like this: what do I really want? This feeling of easily being seen or this person who chose to see me? Right now, it’s both/and, not either/or, and that’s going against what I’ve had readings on. But I can’t even be spiritually logical and commonsensical about this anymore. This may be a must-take, a mistake I need to make.. Also, the outcome doesn’t matter as much as I feel it does (easier said than felt and realized).

There’s the thread of self-disappointment and sadness: I’m still not where I want to be in my life, circumstantially especially. If anything started, with anyone, what am I bringing to the table? A lot of potential?

There’s the frayed thread of dealing with this idea of being separated from my emotions and my desires in order to pacify and please others. It’s frayed because I basically came into the world with it. I didn’t think this was me–seems very antithetical. That dude held up a mirror and showed me it was.

There’s the thread of fear. I don’t like being vulnerable and open, because people are assholes, lots of them. And, this has been an ongoing conversation with the Universe, of using my flatlining love life as a way to spiritually up-level me. I’d like to declare that season over because it’s exhausting, to gather up my energy and try again, scared to make the same mistakes over and over. Reading the old 2013 journal entry about the first guy made me scared that I was stuck. But no one who has read for me in tarot or otherwise thinks that. Even my own readings tell me I’m not stuck. Things are moving forward. I am ready. For something.

And I have to start thinking about what I deserve in a non-entitled, life has been hard way, but in a more receptive, the Universe has my back sort of way. To be proactive in creating wholeness in my life. To affirm myself when no one else does. Now that the storm is over, the fire is out, the war has ended–I can start to choose what I want to do, where I want to go, and who I want to be with. I’m not beholden to anyone.

Related (or, said in another way): there’s a thick thread of shame, about all of it, it being my realm of relationships. How many more wild goose chases in the name of spiritual growth can I take? This feels like the last one, for many  reasons–the main one being exhaustion. I’m glad I’m efficient in the recycling of my heartbreaks, but this is starting to look a little silly, like I have really poor judgment and poor boundaries (not like those couldn’t be corrected, of course).

Ultimately, it’s the shame of having feelings, of having desires, of not being on the same page with, honestly, most people. I don’t need most people, though. Still, when I get in sync with someone, it seems so rare, like it’s fate. But it could be another kind of fate. And that’s a growth point for me, beyond rescuing myself from self-abandonment. Sometimes a conversation is just a conversation, even if I want more. And wanting more is OK. Even as a double Capricorn, I can only calculate risk so far. The leap of faith beckons. You take your first step in the air. Gravity takes care of the rest.

Sometimes, you have to admit to yourself that you want to him to feel the same way as you do, and that he’ll do something about it. You want to bask in the sun again, the sunlight of recognition and acceptance. Your true stellar alignment comes when you are no longer a moon, gaining light from other stars, but when you are your own sun.

You were already, and always will be, the sun.