Thoughts on love

We ALL long for love, and we ALL deserve love. I am actually COMPLETELY sure of that. But what is it really, real love?

Nothing, absolutely nothing, has changed more than my idea of love so far in life. Most of all it has changed through tough uphills. Faith, hope and love have been shaken to pieces deep down in the basement of my own fear, pain, hardness and self-absorption.

Much of what we call love, I think, is petty and conditional attempts to love ourselves. Covering our own needs while pretending it is for the good of others, or of everyone. We look after me, mine and my own while we look for "what's in it for me". We act the play in an attempt to control happiness. We wait for the big moments when someone else steps onto our stage and serves us love, warmth and tenderness on a big platter, by the bucketload ideally. Then we can fill the heart to the brim and live well on it. You could almost believe in that. Hope for it. Long for it.

Then I can pretend the unrest and emptiness are not there. Until my own pain catches up with me again and turns me into a new troll. There are many versions of them.

Above all, I have realised that I cannot demand anything at all of anyone but myself. It is so easy to get exactly that idea: that we can demand to BE GIVEN love. Because I deserve it. And I am usually small and scared inside when I fall into that drawer. Love me! Like a command. Like a threat.

An early yoga experience included the comment "You need to go much further into the muck, Ellen." I was nowhere near understanding what she meant. I think perhaps I do now, ten years later. She was COMPLETELY right. And it was not pretty. And it was to get worse.

The next step in the process was getting to know myself again. Letting go of glossy pictures and facades. Opening up to honesty, openness and realness. Having to stand myself as I actually AM. Accepting my pain and admitting my weaknesses, faults and shortcomings. Without becoming hard. Without running away. Without blaming ANYONE else. Without feeling sorry for myself. Without becoming a victim. Hard patterns to break. Hard patterns to see. Hard patterns to admit. It is so hard not to be ashamed.

A big breakthrough has been realising how reactive I am as a person: in my feelings, in my thoughts, in my actions and in how I am. I learned early to fight, often hard and with great intensity. Everything that hurt inside me I fought against, imagined I could handle and bear, while in reality I was small and rock hard, in wild flight. In reality I cultivated dishonesty, confusion and my own truths to be able to live with myself. I numbed unrest, boredom and restlessness with all sorts of things. I was completely unable to just be, without a counter-reaction to compensate, especially for everything that hurt. It is easy to be good when things go well.

Yoga was the start of a transformation, and the very beginning was daring to really see myself. To really, really listen. I actually think there is a lot of love in exactly that. It still hurts, but practice helps. Pain and fear are wonderful places to practise, and the times I manage to hurt without becoming hard, I feel self-love. When I can bear falling flat on my face and manage to get up with dignity. Forgive myself and take in the lesson I was meant to learn.

Vulnerability and softness are real strength, because they demand so much honesty. To bear meeting what is difficult without becoming unkind, to manage to just be, whatever turns up. Quick swings. Knowing that everything turns into something else. Painful, but good too. Trusting that everything works out if the intentions in the heart are good, and that it always turns out as it should, whatever happens. Giving myself to the good moments with gratitude, and at the same time rolling up my sleeves when the next problem needs solving. That is love for me today.

My closest family teaches me about love every single day. Realising that freedom is not necessarily about doing exactly WHAT I want exactly WHEN I want has opened a big door into love. Freedom is actually responsibility. Responsibility is meaning. Meaning, for me, is close and real relationships. Those closest to me are always the great reminder that I am part of something bigger than just myself. And THAT is one of the most beautiful things I know. Community. The more we give, the better it gets.

And I cannot write this without mentioning my children. Being mother to my most important teachers, three strings that run straight through my heart. I gave little thought to unconditional love before they came into my life. Nobody has forgiven me more mistakes than they have, many of them made on the same bad day.

Three mirrors who fully trust that I look after them and take care of them and, as best I can, make them responsible, whole people. Three mirrors who crush my own ego every single day! Who make sure I have to accept that I mostly never measure up, accept that I am scared stiff and make mistakes all the time. That I simply have to try my best in the middle of all the imperfection. Reach to be even better. Fall. Get up again. Never give up being good and doing good. Love is these good intentions. Daring to love without demanding anything. Daring to let go. Daring to be. Doing the very best you can.

Love for me today is knowing that hardness never gets you anywhere. Daring to rest in the motherly, warm and soft force in my heart. Giving myself to life with gratitude. Forgiving and being forgiven. Trusting myself. Daring to be generous. Being content. Looking after my path and my responsibility in life. Finding safety in myself and trusting it is there even on bad days. Finding joy in duties I do not really feel like doing. Helping others as best I can.

Finding calm in myself. Finding clarity in myself. Finding joy in life. Enjoying the moments. Looking after what matters. Looking after the people who are important in life.

My boys: I love you. Thank you, Alexander, Snorre, Hjalmar and Oskar.

Photo in the church: Nicki Twang.