The Weight I Lay Down Offering my heart, without handing over my spine

I stand here

with the weight of your fears

sitting in my chest

~

The weight of your worry

demanding my peace

~

“My pain is real!”

you exclaim

“You must see it and offer me comfort!”

~

Why is my freedom

yours to command?

~

Nothing I give you

will fill the void

you choose to live in

~

You reach out to me

afraid to reach within yourself

expecting my peace to become yours

~

I love you, truly

I care for you, deeply

~

Love is not meant to be one-sided labor

I need you to meet your own heart, too

~

To face the shadows you fear

and discover they offer love

~

I have given enough

at the altar of your fear

My peace is my gift to myself

go find your own

~

I am not responsible for your ache

I am not an anchor for your peace

~

I hold no expectation

for you to provide for me

that which I deny myself

~

I have carried enough

of my own suffering

I will not carry yours.

A mirror was recently shoved in front of my face in the form of physical dis-ease. I ignored my emotions to the point they became a physical demand. After the initial fear and panic, I decided to sit with myself and really dig into what my body was trying to tell me. This poem was born from that moment. It was not written as an angry rebellion, but a declaration of a much-needed boundary.

I have always been one who helps. Someone who enjoys making others feel safe and seen in my presence. It has finally sunk in that I do that because I believed it was where my worth lived. I believed so fully that I was only worthy because of how much of myself I was willing to sacrifice for others. That’s not helping others, that’s hurting myself under the guise of love.

The world is on fire, and we are each asked to offer buckets of water, yet we are not taught how to refill that bucket, so we look to each other for more water. We give every drop in hopes of helping then wonder why we feel dehydrated.

Tell me, how does it feel to hear someone say, “I love you enough to love myself first, so I can offer you my love from a place that’s whole.”? Does it feel like they are abandoning you by saying that? Does it feel like they love you less by loving themselves? Why is their love the prerequisite for you to feel loved?

Caring does not mean sacrificing yourself. Loving does not mean abandoning yourself. I can’t offer you what I am not giving to myself. If it hurts to love you, if it feels exhausting to offer peace in the face of fear, then I have given you more of me than I have given myself. I won’t be doing that anymore.

It’s not that I don’t care. I care so deeply that the Grand Canyon looks at the depth of my love in envy. I have carried the fear of generations in my heart for long enough.

It’s not as simple as releasing my own fears. (Though that endeavor is not exactly simple either) I must also detach myself from the fears of others and the world as a whole. It is not my job to carry that weight. It is not the job of anyone to carry that weight.

We can’t offer a steady reflection of peace if we are drowning. We can’t offer a steady reflection of love if we can’t breathe. We look around and see each other struggling, not realizing it’s a reflection of our own ache. We soothe outwards and avoid turning inwards, as if the monsters within are scarier than the world we are watching burn.

That doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t help one another. It doesn’t mean we should wash our hands of the world and arrogantly say, “Good luck”. My intention isn’t to ignore life outside of myself. My intention is to nurture the roots within myself first, so that when I turn outward and offer my help or my love or my peace, it doesn’t drain me dry and feel like an anchor I must carry in order to do so.

I will always hold humble gratitude for help I receive. But I will never hold it so tightly that I become dependent on that help and ask someone to abandon themselves in order to provide it. I will always hold myself accountable. It is possible to receive help while helping yourself. Which is why I take so many breaks. I want to be a reflection of the love you offer me so freely. It’s why I stopped writing poetry for a while. Because my song couldn’t sing in a way that felt true. I would sit down to write one, and it would be filled with anger and fear and hopelessness.

Those words deserved their moments, but they weren’t something I wanted to share because I was only visiting my pain, I wasn’t making it my home. Growing up with social media, I held onto this idea that sharing everything is transparency. But I remembered what it felt like when all I shared was my pain. I had a much larger audience, but I had never felt more alone.

I didn’t know that this post would be happening today. It isn’t one I planned out or worked on for days. I just know that it felt freeing to write it, and not like the rage that comes with being fed up. It feels like a surrender to my own boundaries, and an allowing of my wellness.

As always, I am never trying to proselytize, convince or coerce anyone into believing or agreeing with anything I say. Ever. This is just a reflection of my journey and my healing filled with questions I also ask myself.

Love you, friend

Bea