100 Questions: Day 71

What do I need to say but have not voiced? 

Last night, my energy felt really off. So I lit an incense, sat in a half lotus pose and meditated. Just last week, I met a pretty great guy that I feel I may be jumping the gun with. I see him a lot….electronically. We actually met on social media and his presence prior to us meeting was already heavy. In the days since, I’ve felt a mix of excitement, nervousness, anxiety, and a weird touch of rejection. Then I got mad at myself for feeling all of these things for a guy I just “technically” met (we’ve been online friends for years). During my meditation, I let all of those thoughts and feelings come to the forefront. I must’ve been sitting for at least a half an hour before I started singing one of my favorite Nina Simone songs.

Anytime I sing a song out of the blue, I know it’s my spirit singing out. So I went to get ready for bed when all of a sudden, the memory of the day I knew my relationship with my father had changed came to the surface. I was 16 and just told my family that I was pregnant. Before then, I was a daddy’s girl. He was the first man in my life. He saved me from my mom’s “wrath” and was the one to sit me down and explain everything to me. He was so patient and kind with me. Until I did something he felt was unforgivable. I felt the distance between us. It took him years to even look me in my eyes. It was that pain that I carried for a long time; never dealing with it because I had a newborn to raise as well as myself. It manifested itself in my relationships with men; ending with me not wanting to get any closer than a few causal flings. I didn’t want anything serious because deep down I knew that if I did something that made him upset, he would leave me. I sat in my bed, in the dark, crying. I cried for the 16 year-old me because those were some scary times for me, and I felt that I had to walk that road alone. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to feel love and safe and to be assured that everything would be okay. Not tolerated by the one man I thought would love me for the rest of our lives.

I never said this to my dad nor have I told him, “I forgive you.” Those three words can release so much pain, clear so much air, and bury any hatchet.  Still, they’re the hardest words to say.

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