LOVE YOU LIKE I DO

You know how sometimes you think you’ve learned a lesson, and then you roll along all normal-like, thinking you’ve finally rid yourself of said undesirable behavior and then. . . BOOM.

There it is again.

Right there. In your face. All.Over.Again.

Yes, so like real life. Cycles of inquiry, layers of un-peeling, incremental growth and owning your shit. That’s my meditation revelation.

Yup. Turns out, try as I might have, I still haven’t exactly super, really, precisely mastered that whole “look at the world without judgement” dealio.

Like um, at all.

As in, I can’t even look at myself that way, let alone anyone else.

I am my own worst critic. And I’m good at it. Really good. Too good.

This is a vicious cycle; and an entirely unproductive hamster wheel upon which to be rolling.

Showing up with my label maker on one hip and my pointy finger wand on the other isn’t really getting me anywhere. Those tools rarely play nice, especially when validating or describing the actions, habits or attitudes of yours truly.

I’m harder on myself than on anyone else. I realized, this past weekend in meditation, that even when I’m not aware of it I seek out judgment from and in myself and others.

Labeling, Classification.

Value.

I look for it, everywhere, always.

How good am I? Do you want me?  How great was that thing I did? How much did you like my idea? How much do you appreciate me? How did I do?

What’s my SCORE?

As though anyone were actually keeping points.

But it’s deeper than that. It goes beyond me. I do it in response to, and for other people too. Not so much to strangers, for them I seem to have compassion and understanding. Rarely to my friends, for them I bring my pom-poms and a glass of wine water cooler to cheer and provide support however it works best at the time.

But, ummmmm, when it comes to my inner circle, as in. . . my immediate family, specifcally say. . .  my mother, and my kids (more so my daughter). I seem to complelety forget what the fuck I’m doing, and act like a total and complete immature asshole.

Yep. I said it. I can be a real bitch to the people to whom I should be showing the most love, and I know it. I’m aware of it.

I’m can idenitfy it in the moment.  My self-bitch radar is quite accurate becuase, remember, I’m really skilled at judging myself, so like, I know when I know that I’m rocking the catwalk in my latest pair of judgy-pants.

What’s the deal here? I strongly believe that when you know better, you should do better (Maya Angelou).

Ahem. Note to self. See above.

Maybe it’s self protection. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s ego. Whatever it is, I know for sure, that

IT IS NOT LOVE.

And that fact, right there, that’s enough to stop me in my mean girl tracks and do an about face.

What do I want my kids to know most from me— that I love and support them NO MATTER  HOW THEY SHOW UP.   What do I wany my mom to know? The same exact fucking thing.

What does this mean? No more nit-picking my kids; they are beautiful and whole and complete as they are, and should feel that from me first and most. They won’t if I don’t shut up, and fast.

No more making assumptions and value judgements on everything my mother does and says to me; nothing she does is because of me. Her pain is not my pain. Her beliefs are not my beliefs. Her actions are neither for, nor against me; they are simply her choices, and I determine the value and power they hold on me and mine.

My job is to love myself. My job is to love my kids. My job is to love my mother. My work is to be, see, and spread love, to everyone, always.

The END.

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