Each new relationship challenges you in ways you weren’t expecting. For me living together with the one I love means being confronted with my vulnerability, all of my imperfections and idiosyncrasies. Basically all of the things I try to hide most of the time. And then there’s the stuff from my past. Coping mechanisms that used to work are failing and unresolved issues are flaring up like wildfires. As Katherine Anne Porter once wrote, the past is never where you think you left it. Old files that I had neatly tucked away in brown paper boxes and labelled as closed are suddenly resurfacing all over the place. My first reaction was to panic and to try to shove them back into the closet and sweep the rest under the carpet, hoping they would not notice. But there’s no way that you can keep that up. Trying to pretend everything is OK is really draining. So I’ve learned that the best way to deal with it is to accept yourself and your past. To own up to it and be honest about it. To bring it into the light.
I have a confession to make: I have never actually been up in a tree. I am more of a ground squirrel, you see. It is about time that this changed, so I asked a friend – who is excellent with this sort of thing – to help me. “How about tomorrow?” he said. “Well, that seems a bit soon,” I replied, as I tried to think of a valid excuse. “Tomorrow it is then!” So the very next day I found myself at the foot of a beautiful beech tree, feeling weak at the knees. “Did I mention I have a fear of heights?” I stuttered. But I was here now and might as well give it a go. The first two meters or so were difficult, but once I got the hang of it I discovered that I LOVE climbing trees. I learned that sometimes fear is just an illusion that we create ourselves and then get tangled in. When we let go of the illusion, our fears disappear like snow melting in the sun. The experience also taught me that I should really embrace Pippy Longstocking’s motto: I have never tried it before, so I think I should definitely be able to do it.
Feeling the warmth of the sunlight on my skin as we walked hand in hand along the river, leaning into each other to whisper the words that are blossoming in our hearts, I noticed my fears subsiding. It was then that I realised that the Hydra that I have been fighting isn’t some big, bad monster attacking me, but that it is merely my own anxiety. Could it be that it was there for a reason? I decided to drop my sword the next time it would show up and invite it in for a cup of tea. “Please sit down,” I said, “now, tell me, why are you here? Where have you come from and what is it that you wish to tell me?” We talked about the experiences we have lived through together and I listened to all of her worries for some distant future, and after a while, I began to understand. I took her in my arms and held her tight. After I let her go, I gently told her that we are going on this grand adventure and I would like very much for her to join me and remind me that I am not to be naive, but strong and confident.
Why is it that when the story ends, we begin to feel all of it? Beautiful words from The Sun and Her Flowers by Rupi Kaur. I have found them to be true. It is only now, upon the beginning of a new story, that I feel the entirety of everything that has gone before. Each night I battle monsters from my past showing up in my dreams, trying to reclaim the land that they have lost. “You are not welcome here,” I yell to them over and over again, “I want you to get out of my life!” What should be the easiest thing to accept, a love that is healthy and nourishing, quickly becomes overrun with fear and anxieties. My angst tells me that I should look for the nearest exit-sign, before the unicorn gets a change to change his colours. Like my own Lernaean Hydra, it grows two heads for every one that I chop off. I get so tired sometimes that I just want to lie down and give up. But I refuse to be trapped by the past, so I reach for my sword again and again and hope to God that one day to find a piece of firebrand.
I was in a sacred space, singing and chanting barefoot, when out of nowhere another demon appeared. As he was dancing around me, looking at me with intensity in his eyes and bewitching me with his long, black curls, I couldn’t help but wonder: what is it with these dark horses? Even after I have figured out that I am supposed to be finding a different creature – a unicorn with rainbow coloured manes – they keep showing up. But then I remembered the words of Shakti Gawain from her book Living in the Light. She explains that the external world can teach us about hidden aspects of ourselves that we can’t see directly. The people in our life are reflections of the characters and energies that live inside us. Only when we embrace our darkness, she says, can we truly live in the light. In that moment I realised that I’ve gotten used to externalising my dark side instead of owning up to it. As if by magic, the demon lost his power over me and became just a person, someone I know nothing about and need not concern myself with. I would not be inviting him in to play a role in my life, thank you. For all the darkness I need is already inside.