All my life, I’ve had an unhealthy fear and loathing of mistakes and regret. As a result, I rarely experience deep pains more than once – I make sure of it. This sounds like it could be a helpful quality, but in actuality, it has kept me from exploring the unknown. In many cases, I’ve allowed the pain of regret to shape and define me – a quality I desperately desire to shed.
As a little kid, my father was my superhero! I was a daddy’s girl all the way, and I lived on his lap. Of course, there were couches, chairs, the floor, but if he was in the room, that’s where I planted myself. It’s where I felt most safe and loved. It’s the only aspect of my personality that anyone could consider “needy,” otherwise, I was fiercely independent.
What made this need easy to yield to was the fact that my father loved holding me! He proudly bragged about how that space belonged to his “pretty baby girl.” I felt loved; he felt needed; it was a perfect cuddly relationship of codependence – and we loved it!
One hot summer day, I climbed onto my father’s lap, and he immediately snapped at me about how hot it was, sharply yelled something about “space,” and pushed me onto the floor. I would like to say that I was stunned, but that would be a gross misrepresentation. His frustration raged far harder than the moment called for. In retrospect, I don’t doubt that he was hot, but I suspect there were other adult emotions and circumstances at play. However, in my child’s mind, I internalized it – like always.
I sat on the floor, willing my hot, stinging tears not to fall. He saw the hurt and confusion on my face and apologized profusely, but it was too late – and when it comes to me, too late is insurmountable. So I fixed my face, told him that it was okay, and never sat on his lap again. As a matter of fact, I closed my need to be held altogether. [He recently told me that, of his entire life, that moment marks his greatest regret].
If someone did hug, hold or cuddle with me, I understood that it was for them and them alone. So I made sure to remain stoic and one-sided – never allowing myself to receive or expect anything from the embrace. I refused to need that form of comfort – who knew when it could be taken away.
This need remained closed until I met Land Shark. Until he pulled me into his arms with such shameless care that I fell into them soul first. In the beginning, I’d told myself that this was all for him. He obviously got some weird joy from holding me, so I obliged. But there was something sweet and silent working within whenever I’d lay my head against his strong shoulder and closed my eyes. Healing.
Soon, I found myself traveling across town on a nightly basis, only to be in his grip. I felt as if there was nothing I could do wrong, nothing that could make him want to let me go, so I stayed. Allowing tiny bits of armor to fall away each time he enfolded me. Allowing the little girl in me out of her prison of rejection and hurt. Allowing myself to… just… be… held.
The Sharks arms are no longer available to me, and I’m okay with that. I’m grateful for the honesty that they pulled from within—the courage they gave me to open the door that a frightened, broken child closed shut. Somewhere, there are arms just waiting to wrap around me with love and patience. For the first time since that hot summer day, I’m ready to trust those arms.
Broken Bits 