Thirty four years ago today, at 2 months early a baby girl arrived
in the world. There was no fanfare. No joy. No
excitement. No family waiting in anticipation in the hospital
waiting room. Just reluctant mother and baby. And soon, just
baby.
Fast forward to today, and here I am once again alone. Not
entirely true...I do have 3 beautiful children of my own, but on days
like this it seems like I am truly alone in this world.
Sometimes I tell people I prefer it - I'll say
'I'm a
lone wolf' and to a great extent I am. I am
not fussed by my own company, and in my experience I am more
successful acting alone rather than relying on others. Don't get me wrong. I love people. I do. I thoroughly
enjoy other peoples company and I would do just about anything and
have done for any friend or family member that I love.
I grew up in a large family, but always felt alone. In the line of
siblings I fell in the middle and everyone above and below me was
paired up. So, I spent many hours alone in my room, reading and
listening to music – 2 pastimes I still thoroughly enjoy today.
For a long time I was a people pleaser – even so up until a few
years ago. I felt I needed to behave in a certain way to be accepted
by the people I loved. But these days as the real Amy is emerging,
certain friends and family are keeping their distance. And, to be totally honest I
feel abandoned by those people who I have loved and supported 100%
no matter their decisions or actions in the past.
There have been a number of events over my life that have steered
me towards being closed up to others and so I have to wonder if my
predilection for solidarity is a habit learnt from childhood or as a
means of protection from the outside world that has taught me being
alone is less hassle.
CS Lewis once wrote:
Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken.
If you want to make sure of keeping in tact you must give it to no
one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and
little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the
casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe,
dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it
will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to
be vulnerable.
Yes. To love is to be vulnerable. I pray that as another chapter
of my life turns, despite the cost I never lose the ability to stay
open to others.
