Regrets
Yesterday, staring into my laptop camera I said it to my therapist:
“I'm afraid to talk about what I learned this week
because I might be filled
with
regret.”
Looking away
then back again
a shaky feeling of breakthrough and grief all hit in one moment.
Regret has never been my companion
in language or understanding
as I was
“armed with self-compassion”
(most of the time)
and don't things “work together for good?”
Yet, sitting in the same unforgiving wooden chair
in the sunroom
two nights earlier
it hit -
piercing awareness
the sound of swords slicing
from
two directions
through my illusions:
I've expressed my needs as tasks for others
I've expressed my needs as tasks for others like:
“I need you to…”
which means
I've skipped over
my humanity
I've skipped
and shot straight to strategy.
My inner manager has been on duty for years.
I knew this much and even spoke it recently, inviting change but not knowing the form it would take.
Somewhere I learned the lie
that showing my soft, milky belly,
my home base
for babes and sobs and
embrace,
was less effective
than “requesting”
what I need you to do.
which isn't really a need
therefore continuing
a cycle
of labor
on behalf of everyone
around me
bidden or not
robbing loved ones
of the opportunity
to love.
To Love Me.
skip skip skipping over
my humanity
smooth stones on a pond aimed at someone on the other shore.
It still makes me weep
to think that all these years I could have just waded out
sunk into the gentle water
stripped off my weighted garments
and
floating
gazed up at the sky
dragonflies alighting
my toes breaking the surface with a wiggle
allowing someone
to see me there.
To swim out.
I have not been vulnerable.
I have been afraid
that no one would swim out.
I have regrets.
Image description: [a lone duck swims in a pond rippling with the colors of sunset in oranges and yellows]