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Day 541 – Dear Eleven (Absolutely Love) (Grown-up Stuff)

September 24, 2020

You are hurt. Feeling rejected. Back to eleven again. Everything happened at eleven. I have been reliving eleven over and over and over. And now here I sit, crouched in a corner, rejected again. Mad at my grown up self. Why didn’t I make life better for me? Eleven year-old me thought I would get her out of this. All this hurt and rejection over and over and over. All this not having what I really want over and over and over.

Lucy passed on the script. Said she only works on things that she “absolutely loves”. And I understand. And she gave me a gift in her words. I didn’t absolutely love my script before I sent it out. I kind of liked it. It was good enough. Now I will work on it till I absolutely love.

My Eleven, I’m sorry. All these years, I didn’t know I had grown up. I didn’t know I had the power to take you out of this curled up ball, always rejected, always hurt. I’m sorry I didn’t make life for you any better than then. Please forgive me. I have tried. I have really tried. I have been going in circles and bigger circles and bigger circles and most of us do. Most of us don’t break out of our traumas in one go round. I need to forgive me, please. I’m sorry I didn’t take such good care of you. I’m sorry I didn’t heal your wounds. I’m sorry I didn’t find you places and spaces where you could play and be safe and thrive and I set you up over and over again to just barely be good enough.

I’m sorry I didn’t work on that script till I absolutely Loved it… Grown ups don’t always know that we have grown up. I didn’t see how hurt you were. I was busy running for so long. I was trying to survive. I was just doing things to do them. My baby, I was not that smart like they thought I was. I was stupid. I hate to use that word, but I was. Yes, grown-ups can be stupid. Most of us are. But we are smart, too, sometimes. We keep you alive as long as we can. Forgive us. Please forgive me. Please forgive me for taking so long to see so much.

How can I ease this pain of rejection for us? How can I heal all of these wounds poking the same spots over and over? How can I make it up to you? How can I restore all these years that the locusts have eaten? There are stories in holy books of redemption. Is my time too late?

You rail and say NO! Can I tell you something about adults? There are those of us who don’t grow up. There are those of us who don’t even know we have wounds, much less knowing how to heal them. We try to build mountains on piles of maggots, so far detached from the deepest hurts that we don’t see why we can’t thrive. I know it is nothing to look forward to, but I want to tell you something. Today I learned something. We need your help. I need your help.

You know. You, my resilient young eleven, know how to love. I know you know. I have forgotten. I need you to remind me, please. I know you think you are too little and you can’t do anything, but, oh, your smile! It brings life. I will keep it safe. I will keep your innocence safe this time. Please forgive me. This rejection hit a wound. But it hit a wound because a wound was there with you, my eleven, crouched up in a ball always feeling rejected.

We can work together now at last. I will bring you band-aids and medicine and sing to you. I don’t care if the whole world talks about you and calls you names and only sees the curled up ball you have become. I will look for your smile and when you show it to me, I will keep it safe at last. I know how. I will find safe spaces and places for you, even if folks call me crazy. And if meanies come around, I will scare them off for you. And I will use my grown-up powers to tap into more than me to keep us both safe, so I don’t have to spend so much time fighting and running and we can play at last.

I will start to do things in ways that I absolutely Love. It might make me different or weird. I’ve always been afraid of being different or weird. I know, it’s not a grown-up way to be. That’s what eleven-year-olds do. But I’ve been afraid all these years and have kept you in spaces and places where we fit in with whatever we started with in this life. But my baby, I want to tell you something that might be scary. We were not born to fit in with this. No. We were born to be heroes. Did you know that? I’ve been keeping it a secret, even from myself, but it’s been hurting us so bad, trying to be things we aren’t, and trying to live in a way we’re not supposed to.

I know, you never thought you were a hero, but somewhere deep deep deep deep deep deep down, you knew… To Be Special, Different, Lucky, any of that was a bad thing and so we tried so hard to push away anything that would make us be that. But still people hated us. For being that. For not being that. So it didn’t work, you see?

What am I saying? I’m saying that I’m going to be a grown-up now. Yep. You stay around with your smile and your love and your innocence. Oh, and your friskiness. I Love your friskiness so much! I now know that I’m eleven, but no longer eleven, and I can get out into the world and find us medicine. I can nurture us and nourish us. I can create things and do things in a way that we absolutely Love! I can turn in projects that we absolutely Love! I can make them that good to a point that I absolutely Love them!

I can absolutely Love you and me, even now. Even as we’re feeling rejected and even though we didn’t do so many things and be so many things that we wanted to do and be by now. I hear you cheering for me and saying I can still do it. I hear you pushing me and smiling at me and saying that I have done so much, that I am worth something, even right now. I hear you thanking me for looking at you finally. You forgive me already? You believe in me. You are celebrating me… I am celebrating you. And do you know what I will do for you? I will be a grown-up. I will get up. I will use all my grown-up tools that I’ve learned all this time – I’m not perfect, but I have learned some things about healing and cooking and I know places we can go to play and, I’ve never done it before, but I have an idea of a house we could live in that smells good, and even if I don’t feel like cleaning, I know how to make money so that we can find someone to clean for us and pay them.

I’m not gonna be perfect, OK? People might still reject us. But I know how to make my writing better, and it’s actually fun to work on things and practice until you get them to a place where you absolutely love them. You know what I mean? And I guess as I’m thinking about a man and friends and work and even as I’m thinking about how to fix some of these old relationships I’ve been in with family and old friends and old Loves – I know that scares you and has you going back into a ball. “Do we have to fix those?” you ask me. Only the ones you want to fix. Only the people you miss, OK? I haven’t figured out what to do about those yet, but we’ll put our heads together, and call on our super powers, and get a big ol’ light bubble, – I can get that for us so we can be inside it and no one can hurt us – and we can tap into the biggest Light of the World to help us figure out what to do about all this ruin.

Are you with me? Cry about this rejection if you feel it. Feel it. I’ll be here with you as you feel it as long as you need to, giving you medicine, keeping you safe, singing to you, making a life for us as last. Responsible. Me and you together, Eleven.

Ameen.

Day 541
Dear Eleven (Absolutely Love) (Grown-up Stuff)

From → Identity Shift

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