“Please…” (I’m big on the, “Please and Thank you,” not that it necessarily changes the results).
Put your laundry in the hamper.
Pick up milk on your way home.
Return my book (you’ve had it for 3 months) by the end of the week.
Mail my letter.
Can you give me a call.
And they don’t.
So you ask again and again and again;
You do the polite, “Just to remind you…”
And they don’t.
And then you descend.
To the dark place of victim.
Where you start to recite to yourself all the times they’ve made requests of you and you’ve followed through on a moments notice, at the drop of a hat, in the blink of an eye.
You’ve just done it.
And then you go further.
Where they have wounded you.
And you feel disrespected, unappreciated, not valued, not important, not a priority.
But if you reveal your hurt, you sound petty.
And the defence begins of how busy they are, how they tried, that they are overwhelmed,
And then silence.
The silence you receive because you are being difficult and asking “waaay” too much.
I have been there many times.
Recently, I spiralled fast and when you do, it’s a sign that you know better.
You know you’ve succumbed to the past.
For myself it is about expecting specific people to respect me, appreciate me, value me, that I am important, that I am a priority.
In short, that I am loved.
Here I am, I’ve spiralled so far down, that Life tells me I have lost my dignity.
My dignity. This is tragic.
I sit my Self down for a chat.
What are you doing? You’ve been here before.
How many times?
The answer, is between me and the Divine. I mean one can only be so vulnerable.
But between you and me, it’s been a lot!
As I chat to my Self. I ask my Self to sit back, to give space to these emotions of hurt.
Life says, “Take the person, out of the equation.”
Ahh, I breathe.
And I follow the instructions I have received.
I remove the person, the persons.
And I say,
“I am respected.”
“I am appreciated.”
“I am valued.”
“I am important.”
“I am a priority.”
And Life replies, “Now you’ve got it. Now go. Get back out there.”
“Oh, and one more.”
“I am loved.” I reply.
“Yes, you are.”
The request was simple.
Likewise the answer.
Never about them.
It was about me.
Photos by; Sharon Cooke