I feel loved when I feel appreciated. When people show up for me. Is that an act of service, showing up? I feel loved when I feel connected to something bigger than me. Like watching the Swenson-Lee family of 10 from Minnesota on Extreme Makeover – Home Edition. Their father died in an auto accident 5 years ago, their mother and her boyfriend shot and killed a year ago by a deranged ex-boyfriend who stalked the mother, first stabbing her in an attack, and finally killing her, the oldest daughter witnessing both her mother and father die.
I could not believe the courage of this young girl. It’s strange but I felt an all-loving god when I watched that show last night. Like a giant angel was hovering over the entire family and the sister that took her nieces and nephews in, treating them like her own. I cry every time I watch that show. I feel loved when I see people helping other people.
I feel loved when I walk through the woods. The smell of earth, a drip of rain, moss on a rolling stone. Yesterday, driving the Rebel along the parkway, as soon as I turned on to Theo Wirth, all I smelled was forest. The Eloise Butler Wildlife area is 100 years old this year. A vision of preservation and beauty. Thank goodness Minneapolis was raised on an elaborate system of parks, lakes, and Mississippi River trails, green city space.
I feel loved snuggling close, eating popcorn, watching a movie under a warm blanket. I feel loved when a person shows gratitude for my gifts, for the things I am able to give. I felt loved when I visited my family a few weeks ago. For all of our differences, there was so much love in that room the night I popped out of the birthday box for Mom. I feel loved when my friends give me a hug and say they are glad to see me. Or they have missed me.
I do like touch. Not in the same way I used to. I no longer equate sex with love. Sex can be a part of love. Sex is not love. I am talking about more loving touch: a kind gesture, an acknowledgement with the eyes, a touch on the cheek. I feel loved when Mom calls me Honey, or Liz calls me Shug, or when I listen to an old voicemail from my step-dad that begins, “Hey, Shug, I just wanted to talk to you before you leave…”, the Southern accent warm and comforting to me.
I feel loved when I listen to my saved voicemails, a chosen few, one from each person who is important to me. I save them because, once in a while, hearing the voices of those who love and care about me is enough. It lifts my spirits. I don’t have to be next to them. I know they are always with me.
Love is more of a feeling for me. I don’t really care about material possessions. I value time with loved ones. I feel loved when my opinion is considered. I feel hurt when I become invisible. As a girl, I tried to be invisible. To wrap up in the tiniest ball I could muster and disappear. In the loneliest of times, I thought I had succeeded. I feel loved when people really see me, deep down, for who I am, not who they imagine me to be. I am vulnerable, insecure, sometimes fearful and needy.
There is strength in vulnerability. This is the wisdom that comes from living. To be vulnerable is to be strong. Don’t believe them when they tell you it makes you weak.
Kindness and love, no, they don’t make you weak. It takes more courage to stand up and admit a mistake, to make amends, to tell someone you disagree with that you’re sorry and you love them, than it ever does to cut ties and disappear. I’ve run a fair time or two. It leaves a vapor trail. I try to show up, to do what I say I will do. I don’t always succeed. And if I can’t show up, I have to make amends.
I feel loved when I connect with the people that are important to me. I feel loved when Liz washes and folds the laundry, or Mom or my brother makes a home cooked meal for me. I guess those truly are acts of service. People do these things out of love and care. When I lived alone all those years, I felt loved when a friend would call to check on me. I used to think I could disappear into the woodwork of that old Northeast apartment and no one would find out for weeks.
I thought I might die old and alone. But in the end, I decided to take the risk of living, connecting, being hurt, opening up for others to see. I am flawed. And vulnerable. I don’t want to hide my weaknesses anymore. I feel most loved when I allow myself to fail.
-from Topic post, WRITING TOPIC – KINDS OF LOVE
-posted on red Ravine, Monday, November 26th, 2007
“I feel loved when Liz washes and folds the laundry, or Mom or my brother makes a home cooked meal for me. I guess those truly are acts of service. People do these things out of love and care.”
A few years ago I stopped referring to household chores as chores or housework. I started calling it home-caring instead, with the idea in mind that I’m doing these things out of love for those who reside in my home as well as for friends and family who visit (because I want people to feel warmth, comfort, and love in my home).
It makes what I used to think of as sisyphean tasks much easier. :)
[…] Check it out! While looking through the blogosphere we stumbled on an interesting post today.Here’s a quick excerptPRACTICE – I Feel Loved – 15min November 26, 2007 by QuoinMonkey I feel loved when I feel appreciated. When people show up for me. Is that an act of service, showing up? I feel loved when I feel connected to something bigger than me. Like watching the Swenson-Lee family of 10 from Minnesota on Extreme Makeover – Home Edition. Their father died in an auto accident 5 years ago, their mother and her boyfriend shot and killed a year ago by a deranged ex-boyfriend who stalked the mother, first s […]
[…] Mind, Body, Soul wrote an interesting post today!.Here’s a quick excerptPRACTICE – I Feel Loved – 15min November 26, 2007 by QuoinMonkey I feel loved when I feel appreciated. When people show up for me. Is that an act of service, showing up? I feel loved when I feel connected to something bigger than me. Like watching the Swenson-Lee family of 10 from Minnesota on Extreme Makeover – Home Edition. Their father died in an auto accident 5 years ago, their mother and her boyfriend shot and killed a year ago by a deranged ex-boyfriend who stalked the mother, first s […]
Robin, I like this: I’m doing these things out of love for those who reside in my home as well as for friends and family who visit (because I want people to feel warmth, comfort, and love in my home).
It seems like a good way to look at what have been come to be known as chores or housework. I also think it adds to the ability to be present in whatever we are doing – having fun, work, or play. And I love this use of the word sisyphean. 8)
I really liked the image of you listening to saved voicemails. Hearing someone’s voice is so evocative of what they mean to you.
QM,
This is amazing! I wonder what this magic is with 15 minutes. I found this moving, wise, insightful, rich in feeling and observation, above all very intimate and human – in fact, an exercise in the art of allowing oneself to be vulnerable. And EVERYTHING you say resonates with me. Talk about hitting the bullseye!
(I know you might think I’ve got a bit of a nerve – since I do the opposite, i.e. largely avoid being personal. But that’s my behaviour for the blogosphere, not for my own sphere.)
Wow, Sis, I’m discovering we are so much more alike than I ever thought. I could have wrote this, and I save voicemails on my phone and play them back when I need a lift! Especially Daddy’s voice with the “hey Shug”.
Feeling loved !
I feel a lot of love from my family and friends. My problem is accepting love from others, getting close to others. I show love mostly by doing for others, that makes me the happiest. I have trouble expressing my feelings because of maybe being hurt or being rejected.
I cry easily from remembering past happy times, wishing I could still have them. Maybe it’s just the age, the time of my life. Being lonely but afraid to reach out. I know I need to get a life, that is what I’m working on. I want someone to take a walk or go see a movie with, just to be a friend.
When you live alone it is sometimes hard to find someone that can do and like the same things you do. LIfe creeps up on you and you find yourself living in the past and wishing for things that won’t happen. YOu know you need to let go but it’s hard to do .
I feel loved when someone does something for me or calls to see how I am. I’m not a big phone person but I like to know someone is thinking of me and cares enough to listen.
Now I just need to learn how to express my feelings . I judge myself harshly and think others will also ,so I don’t often give anyone a chance to be a friend or show love.
It’s never too late to learn how to give others a chance to be your friend. Maybe through work, or if there’s not an opportunity, then perhaps you can join a group. I know it’s harder said than done.
But there’s a huge step in realizing what it takes to accept love from others. And that’s what you’ve done.
Also, I wonder if you can write about the past. Take some of the writing prompts we have here on red Ravine and just write. I was reading a passage today from Natalie Goldberg’s book Thunder and Lightning, where she talked about how she was able to write through her sadness. I mean, not forever or anything, but on a particular day, writing resolved the sadness. Writing practice is powerful. I’ve had friends tell me how therapeutic it can be.
pmousse & Grits in PA, when I put that out there about the voicemails, I thought, oh, boy, people are going to think I’m crazy and sappy for doing this. But it was in the practice, so there it went. Your bits of recall feel supportive in that I’m glad I’m not the only one. There is something about hearing someone’s voice. The inflection and the tone. You really can get a lot from that.
stranger, I understand…blogosphere as opposed to real life. Very different. We make choices about how much to be out there in blog world. And thank you for your kindness.
Fairy Lady, your comment is moving and honest. It’s like a writing practice in and of itself. Thank you for sharing. The last line about judging yourself harshly and not wanting others to do so – I can sure relate to that. I used to feel that way a lot. And I have lived in the past a lot, too, wanting things to be different than they are. I still do that sometimes.
I’m with ybonesy – it’s never too late and you’ve taken powerful first steps – awareness. For me, it’s always been easier to give than to learn how to receive from others. You say so much in your writing…I wonder, like ybonesy, about continuing to write through your sadness.
ybonesy, I remember just busting out in tears in the zendo when I was reading a writing practice about a simple trip, driving across Nebraska to Taos. I was so choked up, I couldn’t read. It was loaded for me and just chock full of sadness and longing. I had no idea it was even in me until that day I wrote it all out. Writing practice is very powerful.
And thanks for reminding me about Thunder & Lightening. I have it on tape somewhere and want to listen to it again. Sometimes I forgot how powerful that book is. It’s one of my favorites when it comes to practice.
When this writing practice posted today, I was at work and not able to give it my full attention. But I just read it again, slowly and imagining you reading it aloud. One of the things that struck me was how your voice became stronger as the piece continued. It was a deepening and deepening of how you feel love, from your lovers and your family and the people who interact with you, and finally from yourself.
A lot of the lines called out to me, QM, and especially these ones:
I feel loved when people really see me, deep down, for who I am, not who they imagine me to be. I am vulnerable, insecure, sometimes fearful and needy.
There is strength in vulnerability. This is the wisdom that comes from living. To be vulnerable is to be strong. Don’t believe them when they tell you it makes you weak.
It takes a lot of vulnerability, and courage, to accept kindness and service from others, and a lot of sensitivity to notice and be grateful for that service.
Instead of taking their loving touch and words for granted, because of your development as a person, you’re able to realize how precious all those moments are. Prose poetry, QM.
This essay is a reminder to keep all our senses at the ready to experience love, which is life!C.
Thanks yb and C. for your thoughtful responses.
yb, you point out something important about writing – sometimes it takes a while to drop down into a practice. This is often true for me. And why we keep the hand moving so monkey mind turns off. And the timed part of it keeps us one-pointed to an end.
C., I like the idea of keeping all the senses at the ready to experience love, even in the smallest of ways. I appreciate your comments. I find them to often be so giving and grounded.