Skip to main content

Instincts

 Instincts are a funny thing. Sometimes, instincts are natural and immediate, the way you jump back if a spider falls out of the sky or the way a mother fiercely protects her child. But sometimes our instincts are developed over time by experience and habit. Pavlov’s dogs began to drool when the bell rang because they learned that the bell was equal to a treat. So what happens when trauma informs our experiences and our instincts have been shaped by that trauma? How do I relearn that relationships are healthy and good, when they’ve so often been toxic and dangerous? How do I relearn that trust is essential and not foolish? How do I relearn that vulnerability isn’t weakness, that watching someone I love leave for the night doesn’t mean they’re leaving forever? How do I relearn that tired doesn’t mean disinterested; away doesn’t mean cheating; space doesn’t mean rejection? How do I relearn that I’m worthy, that I’m enough for another person to love?

My instincts, the learned ones, protect my heart. But they have created a lonely life. Finding the real instincts, the diamond of truth underneath all that rubble, the reality of what is good and isn’t, discernment, the confidence in herself to not break at the whisper of doubt, often feels like an obstacle too big to conquer.

Love can feel too big to conquer. Because it is. Love can’t be conquered- it means allowing myself to be conquered, to put myself at its mercy. It requires the same leap that faith requires - the willingness to believe that there’s a safe landing when you step off the cliff. It requires trust, vulnerability, patience, time, space to breathe. How do I relearn that the bell toll doesn’t mean destruction- today it can mean healing?

How do I relearn it?

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Doing the Dishes

“Wash the plate not because it is dirty nor because you are told to wash it, but because you love the person who will use it next.” - Saint Teresa of Calcutta Every night after dinner, Niles does the dishes. Mostly, he stacks them in the dishwasher and runs it, but often he also hand washes the pots and pans, setting them in the drying rack and putting them away later when they've air-dried enough. He always clears the table and wipes it down, making sure everything is the way it was (sometimes cleaner than it was) before we sat down to eat.  At the beginning of our relationship, when he’d do this I felt somewhat at a loss. Doing the dishes had always been my responsibility, along with nearly every other household chore, and I wondered what to do with myself while this other person took care of  it. It was one of many mundane tasks that had always been on my already-full plate and freeing that space felt almost like cheating. A little breathing room felt suffocating in the con...
Post a Comment
Read more

Unanswered Prayers

My fiancé and I regularly get into arguments about Garth Brooks. The country singer with the bass twang was a staple of my childhood and I can’t think of a song he’s done that I didn’t absolutely love. Admittedly, most of my adoration now comes from the nostalgia factor; his music transports me back to wedding dances two-stepping with my uncles, road trips with my parents and older brother arguing about what the lyrics actually were (pre-Google life was like that), and romanticizing his adult wisdom about life and loss.  For Niles, who has no such fond illusions, he feels the quality of music is lacking (I don’t 100% disagree with that on an objective level). However, the real thing that turns his ambivalence into disgust is the song “Unanswered Prayers”. As an adult, I can appreciate that the story and lyrics are a little trite and simplistic. But the notion that God just lets our prayers sit unanswered because we don’t know enough to pray for the right things is the real matter o...
Post a Comment
Read more

Someday My Prince Will Come

How cliched, I know. When I was young, I was not fussy about relationships. I was low maintenance if there ever was such a thing, in part because of my fierce independent (read: stubborn) streak and a complete aversion to frivolity. I was never the girl who got highlights in her hair and spent hours on clothes and makeup each morning. I shopped at thrift stores and went to school with my hair wet 50% of the time. My requirements for "boyfriend" material were that they hold my hand sometimes and be smart enough to talk to for hours on end. I didn't seek out the best looking, I didn't expect gifts or showering, I understood not being top priority and I didn't need someone to  emotionally support me. I was a tough chick who could take care of herself, thank you very much. It should come as no surprise then, that I married a man who allowed me to take care of everything in our lives. My teenage self would have loved that, being responsible for the house, the bills,...
2 comments
Read more