A Life of Acceptance

One of the things I really hated about myself is best described by metaphor.

I’ve been married three times, and been the subject of someone’s romantic interest any number of times. I’ve lost count of how many times someone has told me they love me, whether as the product of a moment’s excitement or as a statement they intended to describe the rest of our lives. I do like hearing it, sort of. It’s often just as much an attempt to trap as it is a gift.

In me, there is a pool of dark, still water. When everyone and everything else is sparkling with excitement, when we’re all wearing our dresses and suits and people are crying (even me) and even when I’m saying “I do”, the water is unruffled.

In that stillness, I know what they don’t mean. It’s what they don’t mean that’s inspired me walk out of those marriages, and inspired a certain amount of bitterness. Because silently, behind “I love you,” I can hear something else.

For now. If nothing changes.

Because I’m afraid of change.

Because I don’t want to be alone.

Because I can’t let you get away.

Because I want you to help me.

Because I think this will stabilize me.

It is easy to be bitter, when you can hear what’s behind those three words. It’s easy to be bitter, when you know that behind this person approaching you with their bright eyes full of sentiment, they’re dragging bear traps that they fully intend to snare you in.

But it’s what they have to give you. It’s everything they have to give you, everything they have, everything they know of love, and no small gift.

I’ve learned to live a life of acceptance because I have learned something of love. I accept that I will hear what’s behind “love” when people speak to me. I accept that I am not having the same experience other people seem to be. I will accept the love I am given, even as the person attempts to snare me.

The divine willing, I will accept it with joy.

It is a gift.