Daddy Issues

 

daddyissuesJust send the text….

So I did. Then I obsessed over it all day. Did he dismiss me? Should I write him off already?

Vulnerability is something I am working on.

When it comes to love, I still flounder from time to time. With certain men I am able to lay it all on the table and stand in my truth. With others- not sure if it’s when I feel like I have something to lose or if there are triggers with patterns from my father, I am paralyzed.

I overthink. Obsess. Clam up, lash out, shut out or charge. Typical daddy issues.

Yet, I feel peaceful and calm towards my father. I’ve forgiven him for not being there for me, why am I still reacting to him abandoning me?

I want to scream that I’m too old for this shit and run away, but I’m tired of running away. I want to stop reliving these patterns. I’m willing to see this differently.

I notice my past relationships took a lot of flack for issues that I personally had from my family of origin. Sorry, guys (and girls).

I’m ready for a new kind of partnership. A conscious one. I want a man that is whole and complete in himself. He’s healthy, strong, emotionally intelligent, committed to a sense of purpose outside of himself. Someone who can see me, hear me, actually hold me and isn’t uncomfortable with my full range of emotions. No attachments to outcomes and can be fully present. Geared toward growth and expansion, not “settling down”.

Expect to feel abandoned, angry, rejected, hopeless, trapped, or alone- and realize that it’s not about me.

There’s room to feel. Rage, grief, hunger, helplessness, outrageous joy, passion.

He is honest about who he is, even when I don’t want to hear or see it.

We get to practice love and start over each day.

It is not my job to make him happy. Nor is it his job to alter his behavior for me. It’s about soul stuff. So the closer he is to himself, the more I can also be free.

To get myself ready, I’m doing the heavy lifting. I’m tapping into my grief and anger through embodiment, community and wild release. Meditation helps. Noticing an emotion I want to push away, I get quiet, lie down and talk my way through it. “I’m angry. I’m angry because..”. Sometimes I scream, stomp or punch a pillow. Channeling this rage into a drive and passion to better myself is the ultimate goal.

Standing up for myself in current non romantic relationships has been pretty easy and most of my friends respond with “It’s about time”. The ones who don’t have fallen away, and that’s okay.

Making myself a priority took some time. I am allowed to be glamorous. I am allowed to get exactly what I need or want in each moment. I am allowed to make my passions a priority.

I also had to realize that my father is not the end all be all of judgements. This one was tough for me. I spent most of my life building a standard that he might approve of. Looking for his love in my career, my marriage, my appearance and demeanor. Except he makes mistakes just like everyone else. I was born to be me, not to mirror him. This had to be one of the most freeing recognitions.

That and not expecting my family to change even though I have.

I want to be a reflection of the man I want. I have to show up as myself on every date. Send the scary text messages, not be afraid to walk away or piss him off. The only way to get there is to start practicing.

No more editing myself. No more cowering, settling or lessening.

I am wild. I am alien. I am divine and I’m also soft. It’s a phenomenal mixture.

Picasso

picasso
Picasso said that Art and Sex are the same thing, I realize this every time you touch me.

It changes me, it heals me.
When we touch, all emotions move through my veins, nerves and cells.

You’re an alchemist. Your love has transformed me.

The miracle of meeting you reminds me that I am here at the right place, at the right time for a big, big purpose.

When we breathe together, I lose track of whose body is mine. The electricity of your pleasure flows through me.

I orgasm throughout my entire body. Waves of bliss blast oxytocin to all my channels. Healing, changing, repairing.

I don’t have to be polished and manicured. I don’t have to be polite or sexy.

Our movements are instinctual. Our love is primal and transcendent.

I couldn’t worry about the way I looked if I wanted to. I no longer exist.
Just pure, blinding light mixed with shadows from my deep, red fire.

I could fill a museum with paintings of our passion.
I would need a second building for the sculpture of our connection.

Pardon Me

pardonme

Pardon me, you left your fear in my arms.

Getting dressed, I felt an extra layer.

The stock market, education reformation, stifling aristocracy.

When we embraced I was soothed by your warmth. Your skin, gritty and acidic, made mine seem extra special and tender.

Your solid chest gave me stillness I hadn’t seen.

Your growling timber, reminding me to hush and enjoy the stillness.

I left and those sensations wafted away, worry did not.

It wasn’t until mid day, as I processed and categorized my emotions, did I realize someone else was there.

You see I am used to the fears of a woman. Not always feeling safe, not being seen or considered. Yet today I took on a new darkness that didn’t belong to me.

Telling me to panic. Asking me to rage and gnash and bloody my knees. Putting blame on the ones that are different. Itching to share these sentiments, because commiserating may give me some soothe.

Pardon me, you left your fears in my arms and they’re yelling over mine.