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Someone who is particularly precious to me sent an email Valentine to my inbox yesterday, and it hurt. I felt the strains of our somewhat tattered relationship, and my powerlessness to make things better, but most of all I mourned the days when we were so close that we talked on the phone several times a week, sharing everything from what we had for lunch to how we felt about our Friday night dates.
I thought about estrangement and the great sense of loss that washes over me whenever love is harshly tested and somehow fails.
I thought about happiness, peace, dignity, loyalty, self-respect, forgiveness and apologies – both those that are sincere and not – and weighed the costs of each.
I thought about love as a reservoir that fills up quickly and drains slowly, and sometimes not at all, even when it would be easier to feel the chill of emptiness than the heavy weight of having nowhere to spill.
I remembered the day I made a promise to myself that I knew I would keep. I was sixteen, and sitting on a Greyhound bus with four dollars in my pocket and no plans other than to undo the damage that had been done. I promised myself that I would never invite hatred into my life, and if it somehow showed up, I wouldn’t waste time trying to change its mind – I would run.
I ran. Over the years, I kept my word many times over and ran some more. I’ve kept my toxicity level – as well as my tolerance for all things ugly, hateful, and ill intended – low.
And for some reason, I remembered Deborah yesterday, a fleeting person from years past I knew only as an acquaintance. She was a tall, thin woman in her early 50’s, with a gap between her teeth and a moon-shaped face dotted with freckles she went to great lengths to hide every morning. She was gentle in that apologetic way that insecure women often are. She didn’t want to offend, she was afraid of being misunderstood. Her speech was tentative and filled with dangling question marks.
On a slow summer day, Deborah casually told me a story she didn’t intend to tell. Or rather, she intended to tell it, but in a way that would be harmless, maybe even funny. It was about an incident that happened a week prior, when she was pulling into the garage and accidentally hit the wall. The car was not damaged, but there was a crack in the sheet rock. Her husband came out of the house and called her a name. It was an ugly name and it made her cry. He didn’t apologize, but instead blamed her for making him angry.
When her tears were dry, Deborah went back to the business of being married, which to her meant trying to be pleasing and accommodating. Her way of resolving her hurt feelings was to blame gender. “That’s just how men are,” she shrugged. “Besides, it wasn’t the first time I’ve done something like that. ” When I expressed my indignation, she went on to tell me all the things that made up for her husband’s nasty temper. He fixed things around the house, including the dented garage wall. He liked her cooking. He let her have cats even though he didn’t like animals in the house. Nothing Deborah told me lessened the impact of her story on me, but for her the name-calling event was just part of marriage – an unpleasant blip on an otherwise ordinary and occasionally sweet screen.
I thought of Deborah, and love, and so many other things yesterday as I watched people standing in the line at Byerly’s with their arms full of flowers, cards, and boxes of candy. Mothers, daughters, husbands, sons, partners, friends, and more – all feeling connected enough to someone to want to share in the peculiar but expressive tradition of Valentine’s Day.
I wondered, as I always do, what people were really thinking. I wondered how many bouquets were being purchased out of a sense of obligation. Lastly, I wondered if this one, conscripted day was so important to some people because, conceivably, it might make up for the rest.
I am not cynical about love, quite the opposite; I’m idealistic. I believe in aphorisms like love is a verb and love is kind. Above all, I believe that love seeks to do no harm, which is why I’m always stunned when people who claim to love purposely inflict pain on another – and when someone else accepts it as a naturally occurring event.
Several years ago, I stood in the kitchen of a big, beautiful suburban house, watching a stay-at-home mother stress out over all the driving she had to do to get her three over-scheduled kids to their lessons and appointments on time. Her eldest son walked in and reminded her that he had football practice in an hour. She began yelling, which didn’t surprise me given the amount of stress I saw building but then, in the heat of anger, she told her son that he had “shit for brains”. My jaw dropped. I saw the boy’s eyes water. Ten minutes later, the storm was over, and the car was pulling out of the garage with two of the three kids in tow. Later, when I asked the mother – whom I was close to at the time – why she would say such a thing, and if she didn’t think she should apologize, she brushed my question off. “He knows I love him,” she said.
I’m certain she buys him cards on all the major holidays to tell him so.
In a Wisconsin diner the other day, a longtime online friend and I briefly mulled over our broken childhoods, but the larger part of our conversation was about what I call the periphery and she calls the pit. We meant the same thing – the feeling of being cast out or buried under by those who were supposed to love us but did not. We both, it seems, came away from our experiences with at least two deeply entrenched beliefs. The first is that purposefully inflicted hurt is not a natural part of love. It’s just not acceptable, no matter how many flowery nouns are laid over the emotional or physical bruises. The second is the belief that since being cast out (or thrown into a pit), it’s impossible for either of us to ignore pain, either our own, or when we see it being inflicted on others.
I have been called “too sensitive” countless times. I don’t believe that I’m anything other than aware. Sometimes acutely so, but not in a way that leaves me feeling crushed over every injustice, bad act, or misfortune. I find no higher purpose in misery; it simply exists, and too often arises out of cruelty or some other preventable human act. While a good part of my nature is dedicated to righting the wrongs however I can – leaving me to write about topics like child abuse, politics, and poverty – another, perhaps more intrinsic and self-preserving part of me, needs to feel hopeful and happy. I need, above all else, to feel the love that exists in my life, not as part of some memory, promise, or tradition, but as a living, thriving activity.
I’ve never found hope or happiness in the kind of love that is parsed out simply because of blood relations, history, proximity, or longevity. I don’t want to be loved just because I am a sister, a mother, an old friend, or a known quantity. I want to be loved because I’m worthy – because I give it back with an open heart – because whether we are together or at a distance, we both feel drawn to care for, support, and love each other with the best of everything that is within us, knowing that mediocrity is the antithesis of interest.
Love is not a rose, after all. It’s not a holiday, a box of candy, or a brief message sent only because it’s the middle of February and that’s the tradition.
Love me because I’m worthy. If you believe I am not, then you really shouldn’t love me at all.
I am fortunate that my reservoir is full today, and even overflowing. I am grateful for my friends, my journey, my sponsors, and those who send me words of encouragement and care. I am often overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity of my readers, hosts, and even strangers that I meet along the way. On the road, I’ve found that even the occasional spark of something unpleasant is quickly doused. There are too many new adventures to be had, and too many people who have shown me love as a verb.
Thank you for finding me worthy. I hope to return it ten-fold.
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I love this.
This post meant something special to me and hit home for me, as you know. Keep up the great and thoughtful writing. You are an asset to this world and bring something unique and great to the table.
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Jane, I have truly enjoyed all of your writings. But – for me- this is the best I’ve read. It’s almost like receiving a gift. I am so looking forward to getting to know you.
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Thank you Jane.
Just in time to clear away the aftertaste of a distorted holiday. Your post is a breath of fresh air!
So glad I found you!
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Truly excellent post. Only you can pull off sensitivity sans sappiness!
Thanks – I really get a lot out of reading your work. It’s better than food…even heart-shaped Godiva chocolate.
I can hear the rumblings of a collective shout-out from your fan base here:
You are worthy.
You have such an incredible gift, Jane . . . Thank you for sharing it with us.
This is my favorite writing about love. It’s from The Prophet by Khalil Gibran
When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep,
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire,
that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart,
and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love’s peace and love’s pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love’s threshing floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say,
‘God is in my heart,’ but rather,
‘I am in the heart of God.’
And think not you can direct the course of love,
for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night,
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.
Kahlil Gibran
Beautifully and thoughtfully said, Jane.
Some people are much better at loving than others.
Because in my world life has a soundtrack, I can’t help but think of the Barbra Streisand song “Love Comes From The Most Unexpected Places”. I believe it’s true, and I think sometimes it’s meant to be fleeting, but how sad be the sorry one who thought it was real and put their heart and soul around something that wasn’t meant to last.
I’ll be the lone voice that says, no, I don’t find cursing at someone acceptable nor do I approve of repeatedly degrading them with words or actions. But I also do believe in the balance of things. Investing in a relationship is like investing in stocks. You have to think long term and accept that along the way there are going to be losses. In the short term, there will be moments you regret your investment. The key in evaluating success or failure of an investment is evaluating it over an extended period of time, under a variety of circumstances. So it is with a relationship. I say that as someone who has kept friends for decades, long after life pulled us in separate directions, and someone who has been married for almost 30 years.
Don’t love me because I’m “worthy.” I may or may not be. Don’t love me because I’ll love you back. Love me because you have faith that in the long term, it will be worthwhile. And yeah, I’ll take a bouquet or card with that on February 14.
I think it’s unreasonable to expect that love isn’t going to have its share of regrettable moments.
I need new words for how this post made me feel, but I have none.
I’ve never understood how people can call each other degrading names or terms and think it’s ok. I’m horrified at the Mom’s comment to her son and the fact that she thought it was ok. I’m sure I don’t catch every time I’m insensitive to my family (and they remind me!) but I don’t approve of such use of language, at least in my house. And, most certainly, cards and presents don’t make up for any sort of daily disrespect.
Valentine’s Day seems to make us all a little whacky and inadequate. Or is that just me? Thank you for your thoughtful post.
I agree with what you say about purposely inflicting hurt on someone you supposedly “love”. It’s a problem I see all the time with the kids I work with, most who came from abusive environments. They believe that physical or emotional violence comes with the package. Trying to undo that thought, and get them to believe that they are WORTHY of better treatment is very hard, it’s so ingrained.
I also know friends who feel like a failure after a breakup or divorce, even when they spent years being treated like a doormat. Rather than take pride in the strength it took to leave, they beat themselves up for not “making it”.
Linda, loved the poem.
Jane, thanks for a thought provoking post.
A beautiful post Jane.
As always, a joy to read it & “feel it”.
I put this on my Facebook —Survived another Valentine’sDay, remembering twice trying to leave under the next train on Valentine’s Days past – it is after all just another day for those of us alone who recall those we loved, a blur, flutters of the heart that didn’t take. Hug self and watch birds, read, maybe a piece of forbidden chocolate, and you can get through this one, too. — Somehow didn’t expect a single comment, and got none, and I’ll delete it. But holidays like Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day aren’t for those who are alone. Once, after surgery I wrote about becoming a NOTTA, (”Ferro Sequels” in SAVAGE GIFT) —not a wife, not a mother, not a woman — There’s no national holiday for NOTTAa. Sometimes it takes a Jane Devin to say what nobody else will say. Bravo.
I’ve spent the last seven years getting to know myself better. I used to be an “emotional beggar”, a term, I think, that I picked up from you, Jane. Fits it to a “t”. Consequently, I’ve spent the last seven years sloughing off relationships and friendships, family members or family enemies (you call the shots on that one), because they were no longer good for me, they no longer fit. It was a long and difficult process because I was intensely emotionally invested in them, and I am not good at letting go … but I am much lighter for doing so. I’m at a place now where I’m with the people who love me, I am confident in my worthiness of their love, and I do not waste time on imposters.
I started sending cards daily in the mail a week before February 14th because being showered with cards makes Leslie happy. She knows I mean it. Then, the kiddo wanted in on the action, so I sent a bunch to her, too.
My family. My Valentine’s.
Love,
D~
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Thank you for this post. I too have been told since I was a child that I was “overly sensitive” and that I needed to get over it. Seems that would be like trying to change my fingerprints.
We at Salmon St. love you dearly.
Lovely post, with so much truth in it, especially the ways we can hurt others and brush it off later. I can’t do it either. I’m almost a bulldog about it…if you say something meant to intentionally wound, then you can witness the bleeding, too. And apply the tourniquet, which may or may not work.
Words cut more deeply than anything else. Spoken and unspoken, careless and calculated. Learning to use them well is an art and a necessity.
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Very thought provoking, as usual. Wonderful post. You’ve really struck a chord here, with all your wonderful observations, and with all the comments your post has generated. I hope it’s OK if I add my two cents? Just personally, I think that it is better to give love than to receive it. Mostly because that’s the only control I know I can depend on. When one is on the receiving end of love, one never quite knows what caused it, or if one’s lover is true, or if it their love will ultimately last. Lots of unknowns, leading to lots of insecurity. But if I make the proactive decision to love, and to love intentionally instead of emotionally, then there’s no longer anything to feel insecure about. I can love (in theory), despite ups and downs, breakups, betrayals, endings, because it’s a practice that I actively do from my heart outwards, instead of from someone else’s heart inwards. And it isn’t dependent on anyone else reciprocating or not. Just seems to me that sooner or later, all relationships change or end, whether through the wishes of one or both persons, or because the laws of Nature saw fit to call someone home. Sooner or later, we’re all alone for a time, and the more I can still love despite the solitude, other people’s cruelty or neglect, or just Death stepping up and making it’s presence known, the less there is to fear. That’s the theory anyway. Now I just have to acquire the skills to be able to do that! A lifelong endeavor, that’s for sure.
Thanks, Jane, for the post!
More of my 2 cents here in response to Amy’s post above … in my opinion, it is indeed about finding our worthiness. That is something we each have to find in our own way, at our own pace … but finding it is key to being loved. I am at the 25th year of a relationship, and after struggling with my own worthiness for years and then finding it (hurray!), I can say from experience that keeping the flame of love burning is all about surrendering to the experience. And that requires trust … not so much trust in our partner, which is of course important, but trust in ourselves and in our worthiness.
Love is a verb that works both ways.
D~
Donna L. Faber´s last blog ..NEW FEATURED ART
I love the way your mind works.
“Love me because I am worthy…”
Exactly, Jane. There are too many grown up people who think they should be loved just because they are related, or just because they exist, and they don’t believe that love is something that is earned, and that is kept alive by actually expressing things like love, caring, empathy, or even interest. In other words, they don’t want to actually have to BE a person who is love-worthy: they just want the benefits. It’s like they never grew up, and still think of themselves as an infant who simply has to exist for people to love them. But infants are helpless and unaware and adults are not, and infants do not, as you say purposely inflict hurt on others.
I loved this post, and found myself agreeing. Even though I never would have thought it thru like you did, I am 100% behind your conclusions.
I loved this particular post, Jane. I felt your personal imprint throughout and found myself in every word. Your talent and insight are amazing.
Keep going!
Love.. It is desired, sought after, grasped, neglected, abused,cherished,ignored,inspired, Philosophized, psychoanalyzed…For good reason it only is.
..all of our paths are steps we take within our own souls reach. Maybe the only true meaning to this life. We can learn from others. We can share to others. But IMO our love is singular to each. When I say I love you Jane Devin. It is because I think you are worthy.
Thank you GM and Verizon for having the insight to sponsor the thoughts of truly a remarkable person.
A thought-provoking, intelligent, masterfully crafted bit of writing. Thank you for sharing it with us.
Guess I have not left a comment for some time now. That does not mean that I have not been here reading your words, Jane. Because I have, sometimes I read a particular writing more than once. You certainly have a gift for putting down your thoughts. I particularly love this article. I can identify with so many of the issues you so eloquently describe. I too have had a “Deborah” in my life, and felt very much the same way about her. I had a wonderful childhood with loving, marvelous parents, but even that does not always prepare one for different situations that life sends your way. I have also been called “far too sensitive” numerous times in my life by friends and co-workers, never too sure whether they meant that in a positive or negative way.
But life goes on and one learns to deal with these issues, in one way or another. Sometimes wish I had the knowledge (and also the time) to be able to write the way you do. It would probably be therapeutic for me. Love you Jane, and your writings.
What is “too sensitive” and who gets to make that determination? I have heard that said and may have said it myself at times without really thinking about what it means. I have known people that can profess to “love fully”, but never allow the same to be given and received. Is that really loving? I have done a lot of “self” work over the last 4 years and understand that allowing myself to be vulnerable is an important part of giving and sharing in loving relationships. Has it always worked out? No, but I have remained in that space of possibility and believe that it has enhanced most of the relationships in my life. I think I am worthy and will accept nothing else, not negative words or actions. I choose to surround myself with those that are a part of filling my reservoir and I theirs. Why choose anything else?
That reached the heartlight. Thanks. Again.
Awesome post, Jane.
I know the term “mommy blogger” makes a lot of women who are mothers bristle, being piled into a usually derogatory box and placed on a shelf. And yeah, there are hu,ge numbers of blogs and bloggers that suck. Moms included. But their message, their battles, their strength and fortitude and sacrifice in the setting of diminishing love or care is both heartbreaking and inspiring. Makes me wish I could grab some of the women like you describe here and just squeeze away all their hurt and pain in a single embrace.
But I can’t.
So my heart stays broken a little.
Oh good god, where are the old posts? Shit. (Can I say that here in this fancy fancy blog?) Please don’t tell me they’re no longer accessible? Because I was looking for the first post of yours I read, and it was all about being too sensitive and feeling too much (or being told so) – which was when I wrote to you and we realized we were “somewhat twins”? I miss you.
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Oh my god. Do you know me? Your words speak to me like you do. Thank you.
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