Intimacy. Something that up until recently I ran from, hid from. I thought I was being present and vulnerable but in those moments of deep intimacy I look back and see the point where the light turned off and I closed the door. Time and time again.
I ran from myself, ran from everyone around me, their stories their vulnerable moments. Oh how I wanted to be there but didn’t know how.
And it’s exhausting now, being on the other side of it. It’s like a muscle I never used, and I’ve spent so many hours flexing it so to say, in the last 6 weeks, and damn it’s exhausting. It’s beautiful and healing and so rewarding but also exhausting because I was a fugitive from these moments before.
I thought I was a burden. I thought I wasn’t good enough. I ran and fought against everyone and the shame became heavier and heavier, burning people around me by association. I fought you all so hard. I fought me, too.
There is such exquisite joy and sadness in truly being present in an intimate moment. When someone starts to trust you enough to share a long-held trauma, or finally voices a truth that burdened them, and they are released, they are free. It’s like they’ve been holding their breath for so long on something and you’re finally present enough to receive that gift, whatever pain or joy it may be- whether it’s about you or someone else.
Clarity. Breathing in and out and simply being.
That is true intimacy: being fully present.