And All the Time I Know

I know how to give love, and I know how to receive love. The people I love, without a doubt, know I love them. And the people who love me? Sometimes my heart feels like it is about to burst out of my chest, it is so filled with all the love that others pour into me. Without fail, every time I spend time with one of my sons, I cry afterwards as I think about all that love. My love for them and theirs for me. I am crying as I type this. I am extraordinarily blessed to be able to give love and to receive love. I am both proud and grateful that whatever my mother did to me, she did not rob me of that ability. My life's journey has had some other rough patches in it, but no one has ever taken that away from me. I know that I am lucky because I look around and see people who don't know how to give love or to accept love. They are broken people. For whatever I have been through and whatever I have done in life, I am not broken.

Sometimes I make things too complicated. I think too much and try to figure things out. I try to solve problems. I am an INTJ, after all, and it's what we do best. In the words of Mr. Clapton, I stand there trying to find a sign when all the time I know what to do. Love.

My previous post about loving people without wanting to rescue them started me thinking about this. The roots of my craving to fix damaged people can be found with my parents, two very troubled people. Of course, a little girl can't fix the adults in her life, but as young children we inherently think we can and we try. My mother and my father chose to never get help. I couldn't help them, but I did love them. My mother killed my love early on. Or perhaps it was that she treated me so cruelly I decided not to love her anymore. It doesn't matter which it was. But I loved her when I was small. And I loved my father. So I gave them what I had, my love. It's all I really have to give. And it is enough. I think I knew that all along.

Susan