Do you love me?

2nd Grade Danielle
Do you love me? 

I asked this question of my ex-partner repeatedly in our marriage. Sometimes it was asked playfully. As we were waking up in the morning. Or right before bed. Or before he left for the day or a long week of work travel. Or while we snuggled in bed. Or just randomly on a walk or in the kitchen. Sometimes it was asked desperately. As we argued. Or as we existed painfully in disconnection. Or when we finished a family meeting. Or while we sat in silence during a car ride.

Do you love me? 

Over time, it became a part of our unspoken norm, embedded seamlessly into our way of being together, without any close examination. Partially conditioned by my own insecurities and fears of abandonment and not being loved. Partially conditioned by a relationship environment that hardened over time, one that grew unsafe emotionally.

Do you love me? 

Sometimes the question was met with love and kindness. Sometimes with sincere reassurance. Sometimes with silliness. Sometimes with hurt. Sometimes with anger and exasperation. Sometimes with disgust and withholding. 

Do you love me?

I asked because I was scared. I asked because I didn't know. I asked because I couldn't feel it in my heart or my body. I asked because I couldn't tell myself a different story. I asked because I was taught to find the answer outside of me. 

Do you love me? 

The question itself should have caused pause to begin with. The root of the question should have been explored tenderly. But neither of us were capable at the time to be with the question in the way that it needed. 

As I look back, I've discovered, the question was asked from a place of deep longing. A longing I've held since being a little girl. A longing to be seen. A longing to be held tenderly. A longing to feel loved unconditionally. A longing to express things I didn't have available in words. It was asked from an empty vessel inside of me. A vessel that is no longer empty but instead filled with my own love and care.  With deeper insight, I realized, the question I should have been asking instead was, do I love myself? 

As I've unearthed both questions on this journey, there are many threads unraveling. Dark and light threads coming undone. Some thick, some thin, some tightly knotted, some loosening with ease. Instead of quickly pulling at each thread, I'm practicing patience with myself, being with each thread gently. The thread of shame, that a seemingly independent and strong willed woman would need that kind of reassurance. The thread of guilt, for putting the weight of that need on him alone. The thread of compassion, for the longing part of me that couldn't be fully seen then. 

With every thread that I untangle, I heal the little girl in me who didn't know how to create that love within herself. I nurture forgiveness for her. I place my hand on her heart and I tell her, I have always loved you. 

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