There is love in the letting go.

For as long as I can remember I have always been the safe place, the one who shows up. However strange and wonderful with jagged edges and steady hands. More times than could be counted I would handle things for others, partially because I am a particular woman who prefers others get out of my way so I can roll up my sleeves and make shit happen… but mostly because I love big. I love fierce. I love completely. Trusting few yet loving all.

It is rare for the protecters in this world to be protected. The seers to be seen. The lovers to be loved. While I do prefer to be on the front lines of life – slaying the metaphorical dragon myself, it is sometimes lonely. It is sometimes scary. It is sometimes exhausting.

The song lyrics from Matchbox 20 have played in my head for most of my life. “And I don't know if I've ever been really loved by a hand that's touched me”.

My Tia says, “It is better to be the one who blesses others, instead of the one in need of the blessings”. In life we all have the opportunity to experience both – I have been both the blessed and the blessing as I wade through this human experience. Such a strange and beautiful experience it is.

It took me a long time to understand that sometimes the best way I can love someone is by not saving them. Allowing them to sit in the mess without rushing to clean it for them. Loving them enough to watch them fall on their face, so they learn how to get back up when life throws them unexpected blows. Often, I break my own heart, kiss them on the forehead, hand them their own sord and shield, and send them off to fight their own battles – even when it is hard, scary, and seemingly impossible. Usually this means being okay with them making me the bad guy for refusing to be the sacrificial lamb or doing the hard thing for them.

Victorious or defeated they follow the light I leave on for them when they are ready. Welcoming them with these steady hands in celebration or in sorrow… no matter the outcome they always gain an ounce or two of self-reliance.

My mother has alcoholism. While most people endearingly think of their mom and remember warm hugs or comfort – I think of Marlboro’s and miller lite. Not every memory is bad, I keep a few fond moments tucked away in my heart. Those are the moments I believe reflect who she is underneath the addiction and unresolved trauma that swallows her whole on most days. I have always been a protector. When she would lose her temper, I used to stand in front of my sisters then send them to their rooms. Eventually she figured out that I would not allow her to harm them... so she wouldn’t waste her time trying to take it out on them. “Never let them see you cry” ran on a loop through my mind as I took the bloody noses, blows, and bruises without flinching.

Despite what I just shared as I got older my mom always knew I would take care of things. So did my sisters, my ex-husband, and most of the people who were in my life. Sharing that is not easy for me but I believe the context helps with the lesson that is on my mind today.

When I learned to stop saving everyone around me, they had no choice but to save themselves. Sink or swim.

Earlier I mentioned that I am particular and often it comes with an all or nothing approach (which I am working on). Although I tried extensively to prevent my sister and mom from losing the house after dad passed away – it was clear that I was the only one fighting for them. My sister was pregnant with her 1st baby, so I did allow her to live with me for the 1st year of his life. My mother was not extended the same offer. While everyone passed judgment on me for not helping my mom, I knew I needed to let her fall on her ass so she could find her footing – to the best of her ability. Guess what? She did. She found a small apartment and she made it happen. One afternoon she called and asked if I would like to see her new place. My initial thought was no thank you (I have lived where I am now for two years, and my mother has not been here once she might not even know the address) but my heart tugged, and my mind listened. After she showed me around the place, I gave her a hug and told her I was proud of her and that I love her. She said she didn’t think she could do it then thanked me for making her.

There are many types of love – all of which sometimes require us to let go. Even when it breaks our hearts and makes no sense. It is a hard pill to swallow but the purest love I have ever received was given to me by letting me go.

There is this new feeling I am still learning how to process the last few months. For the first time in my life, I know what safe feels like. That may not seem like a big deal to some, but for me, it is everything.

There is love in this world, it just might not look like you imagine it should.

There is love in the letting go. There is love in the leaning in.