Sunday, February 17, 2013

Fucking love

It's become frustrating all this cake eating. Having it. Eating it. Then came the couples counselling course. So now I have the privilege of self analysis. I love this class. I think it is my destiny but the class is dangerous. It's all about attachment.

Attachment styles are the next big thing. Are you securely attached? Insecurely anxious? Insecurely avoidant? Have your neurons been healthily formed to make your limbic system fire in a good way? Did you get enough attention as a child so can you safely roam trusting that your home base is steadily waiting in the wings to greet you with love and support? One can't help but to look at themselves and ask, what are my patterns?

The last couple of weeks I have been steadily self diagnosing. We all want to think we are securely attached. That we are both connected and independent. That we are capable of giving love that is open and trusting and that someone will do the same for us. When I peel back my layers I wonder. I wonder why there are times I feel so lonely.

It's not for lack of relationships. I have those. My daughter, my family, some beautiful souls that I can share my bed with. A big hairy dog who takes up too much space and demands love and affection in an unconditional and terminally endearing kind of way. There are just moments when there is an emptiness, a feeling of reaching out for something intangible with a longing so deep and poignant that your heart literally aches. The most deeply rooted fear in us all. Abandonment. Was it because someone didn't pick me up when I cried?

Thank fuck for plasticity. Our brain's unstoppable ability to change and grow and learn. Turns out, if you can find someone to pick your crying ass up in the present, you can change your destiny and feel safe all by yourself. Or so they say. The trick is to trust that you are not too heavy. Maybe I should eat less cake.