The Webster’s Dictionary definition for Hard is: “Not easily yielding to pressure.”
Hmmm. I think I want to be hard. Harder then ever before. I won’t yield to what you think I am. I won’t yield to what you think I can or can’t be—or can or can’t achieve. I won’t believe what you have said about me. I won’t act small so you can feel better. I won’t brag or boast either, on my way to living my best life. My best life is not your best life. I don’t claim to know what yours is. Just as I don’t claim to know you, like you claim to know and define me. That is your problem. My problem is taking baby steps and not running toward my purpose. My problem is tackling more than most do every day of my life without any support. But that is my problem, not yours. You are overly supported and demand and expect more. You are not grateful for all the support you get, yet judge and blame others easily. But I love you anyway. I don’t ask you to listen. I don’t ask you to understand or God forbid approve. I don’t ask you to help me. I don’t accept your rules or your small viewpoint of life or what it, or mine, should look like.
But what I know is that only when I fail, and prove your assessment of me right, is it OK. Only when I fail and get defeated do you love me, accept me and therefore, accept yourself. Because it was always about you anyway, wasn’t it? And your actions and choices show your inability to love yourself. Not my ability to be lovable or loving.
So I am free now. I am free to just do what I need to do to live my best life because you will never be happy for me, no matter what I do, or don’t do—no matter what I ‘achieve’ or don’t achieve. So, I am harder now than ever. I do not bend or stumble or stall or break under the pressure of trying to be loved by you—or anyone else like you, who is blinded by addictions, and refusing to do any real soul work. I will not feel bad about myself because you choose not to show your love, or ever visit, or give attention or be kind. It isn’t worth it. And it reflects your armor, your defensiveness—not my soul, not my worth. How could a shy little girl, who couldn’t talk until she was eleven, deserve a belt buckle whipping? Or her favorite tortoise shell hair brush beaten over and over on her back? How could a tiny child deserve welts, or bruises? No one does.
No. You are never to be seen again. Nor do you define my essence. I am stronger than you ever will be. I can look into the mirror and smile for how strong, how hard I have become.
I will love you in a way you never understood. I will just love you, accept you for exactly who you are, no matter what, and no matter what you did—or didn’t do—or said, or don’t say. My love is unconditional and just is. My heart is open, forgiving, yet strong and very, very hard now. I am independent. You have never been. I will follow my purpose without asking anyone else to sacrifice, as you did to achieve yours. And if you don’t like my strength, remember that you almost killed me. So I had a choice to make didn’t I?
It is OK now in my heart. I know you didn’t mean the horrible words, the vicious drunken attacks. You used to be my excuse for being broken. You were my excuse for thinking I was unlovable and allowing others in who were like you. But I am free now. None of it was personal. You are broken. And I am miraculously filled with light from a loving Source who taught me that I chose this life to survive it, to grow from it, to love insanely despite it, and to embrace my art because of it. So, I laugh more. I need less. I ironically trust more. And I am very far away from you.
You only love conditionally and if you are needed. So you break people so they will be broken enough not to leave you, so they will need you.
The secret is, I have never needed you. I have been on my own since I was born. And that is the truth. I have never needed your kind of love. I don’t need abuse. I don’t need criticism. I don’t need anger or violence. I don’t need you. I don’t need your manipulation, control or approval. I don’t need the self-loathing, or bravado, or self-pity, or guilt trips, from a self, self self viewpoint that surrounds you like a force field. But I am no longer affected by you or what you did. It wasn’t about me. It was always, always about you. I have only seen you once in 10 years and I will never see you again. Ever. Not until we leave Earth. That is the choice of my loving, yet hard heart, that is protective and sets boundaries.
But I will always love you. And you may not understand that kind of love until you cross over. But then you will. And you will see. And you will feel my love for you. It is there. It always was.