I’m afraid of the woman I love.
I’m afraid of her confidence. Of her knowing of herself as radiant, free, wild love. I’m afraid I will not be able to receive her in this fullness. I will be threatened by her. Envious of her. Afraid of her light attracting others that can receive her much more fully than I.
I’m afraid of myself.
I’m afraid I will become fearful and reactive in the presence of her radiant light. Her brilliance will invite all that cannot meet her there to rise to the surface. I will desperately fight for the familiarity of knowing myself as unworthy. I will seek to confirm my story. I will push her away.
And I will be alone.
I’m afraid she will shrink in my presence. She will limit herself in the presence of my fear. She will hold back. She will dim her radiant light. She will slowly die. We will slowly die.
I’m afraid what my mind will make all of this mean about me. I’m afraid it will convince me to know myself as selfish, weak, unlovable. Helpless, pathetic, broken, destined to sabotage. Not worthy of the light.
I’m afraid of losing that which distracts me from my fear. That which temporarily pauses the endless whispers of not enough. Her love. Her desire. Her radiant mirror of the truth of my being. The truth I fear being blind to in the presence of her perceived disappearance.
I fiercely guard against any possibility of facing myself. Any possibility of losing the only thing I imagine can save me from myself. But alas, this savior is ultimately a prison.
But her love, our love, is not the prison. Her radiance is not the prison. It isn’t her. The prison is my idea of her as a savior.
The prison is me.
And I will continue to be until I face the only one that can set me free.
And I recognize that the radiance I see in her is ultimately me.
A version of this post was originally posted on TroyCohen.Wordpress.com and is republished here with permission from the author.