For a long time - nearly as long as I can remember - I have protected myself by only letting the man in my life see what I wanted him to see. It isn't something I am proud of - but rather, helped me feel like the inner most parts were safe and that I could walk away if I needed to. The kids know all about these parts - the basic things that men who only love the idea of you cannot see. The need to plant and watch things grow, the need to be productive and to take care of things. In my younger days I tried to deny these things and be the kind of person those around me expected. I remember vividly at my reunion that the people there said I had changed so much - yea, now I am openly a granola head.
It occurred to me that I have three dear girlfriends - all of whom know the real deal - all of whom have seen me at my not very great moments - and choose to love me anyway. It astounded me when, this week, in the midst of all the confusion, I realized that he knows me almost as well as they do.
As a Catholic, I have always liked reconciliation - you can tell someone your worst sins, and he tells you to make amends and that you are forgiven. The most important part is that as you are talking about what you have done - he doesn't run from the room screaming or chide you about poor behavior - it is absolute acceptance, no judgment - what is just is. Being in love for real is very much the same. We have to see the ugly parts of each other - when I don't shave my legs, when the kids are fussing and I am a push over - when he has that chew in his lip and cleans the house like a bachelor. We all have parts that we would rather hide - but in allowing those parts of ourselves to be loved, we are freed - knowing that there are no skeletons in the closet waiting to ruin things - knowing that we are loved for who we really are, instead of just a dream of someone else.
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