All my life I’ve come up with reasons for not feeling loved, or rather for not loving myself. “Aha, it’s because I’ve gained weight, because I’m not successful, because I’m not wealthy, because I’m not…..enough”. It felt better, very familiar and obviously safer than accepting that this story, that I’ve told myself all my life, was simply not true. The story being that I can’t be loved until….”that” whatever that is, happens.
Like the proverbial donkey and the carrott I’ve been on this futile chase of that eternally elusive carrott. To not feel loved (yet) gave me a sense of “being able to find the answer”, as in being in control, and every time, which have been many, I thought I found it, it started my motivational engine and had it running full speed, for a while. This feeling of never really measuring up to the imagined standards for receiving that love, I can, if I want to put a positive spin on it, choose to view as a motivational surge to always do better which has helped me achieve some small successes. I grew so used to that hunger, that energy of “when I get there”, I thought it was a fact of life.
When I heard about unconditional love, I immediately knew that this was what I felt for my daughter, my pets, nature, the planet in general. That this was an option for me as well, never really occurred to me. That’s how out of my experience it was. And I adjusted and even built my life upon it. It has been a slow and very incremental kind of road to understanding and letting go, I admit.
After having been on this “quest” to understand why I never felt enough, safe and loved, for such a long time, it felt kind of petty to realize that through all these layers of “that’s it”, it all came back to me wanting my father to love me. I thought it would be something bigger, more advanced, more mindblowing. But it wasn’t. I have of course realized that he didn’t love me unconditionally before, I have mourned it, worked with it and thought I had left it behind. This is what I mean by “incremental”.
It didn’t result in me being enveloped in a sudden blissed out state of self love, not at all. Actually I find comfort in that sense of “it” finally being deflated, because as of right now, there are no new expectations. It’s more like when you’ve finished a book, it’s done.