By Lynn Reilly | Tiny Buddha
“You open your heart knowing there’s a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible.” ~Bob Marley
A few months ago I was visited by my mother in a dream; my deceased mother who took her own life thirty years ago.
In my dream, I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom thinking about my teenage daughter, who is around the same age I was when my mother died. I felt like my daughter was in distress, and I wanted to help her.
As I sat and pondered, I looked up and saw a blanket coming toward me. I knew it was my mother trying to comfort me, but I could not see her. I only felt her. I was confused and uncomfortable with her presence and why she was there.
She then became visible in her ethereal form, beautiful and healthy as I once remembered her long ago. A victim of mental illness, she had fought her own demons for years before making the decision to end her life.
Her exit from this world shaped the path of mine. I had not dreamt of her in many, many years.
From an early age I was her confidante. She shared her fears with me, as well as her insecurities and her deep depression. I took on the role as her caretaker and emotional support. She was desperate to be loved, and I was desperate to help her feel it. I felt I had to. If I didn’t, I might lose her.
She opened her arms to hug me in my dream, and I instinctively pulled away. This was not our relationship, and I didn’t trust it. It was not her job to comfort me. I was the one who comforted her. It didn’t feel safe.
She waited in silence with her arms wide open as I resisted. I was curious, but cautious. I slowly leaned in and felt her embrace… and then, I let go.
I let her hug me. I released my fear, leaned in even closer, and let my body go limp as I wept in her arms.
I have never experienced anything like it. A feeling of complete surrender and letting go into the care of someone else where I did not have to be strong. I did not have to fix anything. I did not have to make anything okay. I let myself be embraced by a love so powerful and comforting… just for me.
When I woke up, I felt an enormous wave of peace and contentment. Scribbling down insights and details at 4am so I wouldn’t forget.
I spent the next day enamored with the aha moments that followed. I saw the patterns that began early on that I couldn’t quite grasp. The fear of attachment and commitment. The danger I felt getting close to people. How giving love was a survival tactic to get my basic needs met and how receiving love felt dangerous and unknown.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to fully experience being loved by others, I didn’t know how. I saw the push and pull in my relationships. I wanted to get close to people, but it felt risky. The closer they would become the more I would internally retreat in protection.
I had a strong desire to be connected to others, but the resistance that came with it was fierce. So much fear.
I married in my mid-twenties feeling I had a strong connection with my husband and I would comfortably ask for what I needed. Yet the more attached I became, the more my anxiety around loss intensified.
I feared arguments would lead to the end of the relationship. I was convinced that if I didn’t shape myself to meet his expectations I would no longer be welcome in his life. I felt the pressure to assess his needs while ignoring my own, which eventually led to long-term resentment and the disconnect of our relationship.
Instead of telling my husband, I withdrew enough to deem the relationship no longer working. I was too scared to ask for what I wanted, assuming rejection and defeat. My biggest fear was that he would leave. Instead of waiting for the inevitable end, I chose to leave him before he left me, which led to another debilitating fear—that I would hurt him.
I always felt I had to be tough, the one who took the hits. Because my childhood experiences with an emotionally unavailable parent positioned me as the caregiver, I believed that was my role in relationships. I did not think I had earned the right to support my own emotional needs.
And due to the fact that I’d failed to save my mother when she was in the most pain, an unwarranted, yet longstanding guilt created a fear of hurting others. I would rather put their needs over my own and “suck it up” so they didn’t have to experience what I had become an expert at—enduring pain.
After spending significant amounts of time with myself, comforting the wounds of loss from my twenty-plus year relationship, and getting to know who I was independently, I began to nurture my vulnerable heart. I realized my lack of love and compassion for myself was keeping me in a cycle of dysfunctional and unhealthy attachments.
As my heart strengthened and healed, I was introduced to new friendships with those who were willing to be open and vulnerable, and slowly began to do the same.
