Self-abandonment is a shadow in the corner of my room.
She moves stealthily, dressed in all black.
Her fingernails are long; she reeks of poise.
And right as my head hits the pillow and my eyes start to close, she takes a book off my shelf, licks her finger and turns the page.
“Let me tell you a story…” she whispers.
And I jolt awake.
Human Contracts
It seems to be the theme, lately — being awake.
I think that before we come to this world, we sign certain contracts. Some are with people; the ones we love, hurt, ache for, feel nothing for, break with, collaborate with, revel with, simply are with.
Some are with certain endeavors: creating, speaking, nurturing, writing, making spreadsheets, selling souls, carrying stone on the back of a horse to rebuild San Francisco after the 1906 earthquake.
And some are with our struggles. It sounds strange, but I believe we make contracts with our shadows. The haunting, cringing, cast-aside parts of ourselves we’d like to forget live and breathe.
We sign on a dotted line and agree to see them,
acknowledge them
and accept them for what and who they are.
It doesn’t always need to be done with love.
Or celebration.
It can be.
It’s nice when it is.
But neutrality works, as well.
This is “the work” in my opinion.
And it starts with being awake.
My contract has come due and I’ve been wide-eyed. I think, becoming a parent will do that. I think, writing a book will do that.
I think, being a human will do that.
And the biggest story that I’m sitting down with is: “You will be abandoned if you are too messy.”
In Devon’s internal landscape, this story is a bestseller. Everyone is talking about it.
“Have you heard? Did you know? Do you think it will become a movie or a Netflix Original limited series?”
These are the days I close my eyes and breathe.
These are the days I listen quietly.
She has lots to say and quite honestly, some of it is incredibly interesting.
Most of it, I crumple into a paper ball and throw at a proverbial trash can. “Return to sender” as my friend Mara Glatzel says.
But sometimes, Self-Abandonment’s piercing blue eyes cut the darkness like a sharp piece of glass and I can see her for who she is — me.
Aching for the reminder that I am worthy of someone else’s discomfort.
I am worthy of inconvenience.
I am worthy of nonsense.
Of time spent and lost.
And most of all, I am worthy of having my own back.
I don’t need to share the shadowy corner with Self-Abandonment. I like it in my bed. But I can smile at her. And remind her that I’m not going anywhere.
She seems to soften when I say this.
I do, too.
Reflections
Are there micro ways you self-abandon? What do they look like?
What story/stories cause you to disbelieve in yourself?
How can you continue to show up for yourself, your wants and your needs? What are the ways you already do?
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