Tag: internal family systems

  • Capacity

    It’s been over three months since I wrote about my poly journey.

    So much has happened, I don’t know where to begin.

    I’ve entered a new chapter.

    One of deeper exploration, both physically and emotionally.

    I’m learning and growing so much, it’s been difficult to fully process and integrate it all.

    I’m navigating love now.

    Not just feeling love for someone.

    Being in reciprocal love with them.

    And I’m discovering a new side of myself.

    A submissive nature I’ve always inhabited, but never explored before.

    I’ve been lied to.

    Had my heart broken.

    Been promised longevity and devotion only to have it pulled away again, like a rug out from under my feet.

    I’m finding I don’t have endless capacity to hold it all.

    Am meeting my edges, the places where my desires and my limitations intersect.

    I know it’s time.

    Time to shift inward.

    To slow down.

    Pause, process, digest all of these experiences.

    But I don’t know how.

    This part of me just keeps growing, yearning, seeking.

    Autumn has arrived and the yellow leaves from the walnut tree fall all around me.

    As always, the seasons of nature illuminate my own energetic seasons.

    I feel the pull to return to myself.

    To remember who I am.

    And discover where I am, in this moment.

    I started down this path with an open heart.

    So full of love and so ready to share it.

    Yet now that I’ve been hurt, I can feel my trust wavering.

    My protective parts are awake and alert, searching for any clues of danger.

    I wanted so desperately to connect with people who could meet me where I am.

    In the depth, vulnerability, and devotion that flow through me so freely.

    I didn’t fully realize it though.

    How much more capacity it takes to hold this level of connection.

    For all the beauty, excitement, and sweetness that being in love can bring…

    I also have to be able to hold the fallout.

    I’m learning that loving each other isn’t always enough to be compatible together.

    That people may want to show up and meet me in love, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they can.

    At first, it seemed to help.

    When one connection was feeling distant or ending, to seek out another right away.

    It brought me hope when I felt sad and discouraged.

    Every rush of a new spark softening the blow of a flame gone out.

    What I didn’t understand, is that heart ache doesn’t just disappear.

    I now feel a kind of cumulative effect, each painful ending making me more tender and protective of my heart.

    The wounds from the last love infecting my ability to trust a new one.

    I sense myself trying to vet people now, analyzing every little thing to catch any red flags.

    Chemistry can be so blinding at first, I’ve missed important things that I could have seen if my brain wasn’t high on new relationship energy.

    I’m learning though, as I go.

    Every misstep leads to a new lesson.

    Each heart break teaches me more about myself, and what I need in this realm.

    I’m building new pathways, seeing new perspectives.

    Cultivating relational resilience in my nervous system.

    Facing old, deep wounds that keep telling stories I’m tired of believing.

    I know all of this, yet still there are days when I feel hopeless.

    Disheartened.

    Weary.

    I wonder if I can truly walk this path.

    I’m still not sure.

    But I as long as it continues to beat I will keep following my heart.

    Whether it pulls me to stretch and leap, or retract and integrate.

    I will trust in its wisdom and guidance.

    In its courage and capacity.

    That it won’t lead me to anything I am not meant for.

  • Ready

    I wonder how it will go.

    My first time with someone else in almost two decades.

    My first time showing my naked body to another person, besides my husband, in 18 years.

    My body has been through so much in that time.

    It’s grown a human.

    It’s given birth.

    It’s offered five years of breastfeeding.

    It’s grown so much.

    Fuller. Wider. Stronger.

    It has cellulite where it once was smooth.

    It has curves where it once was slender.

    What will he think when he sees it?

    I’ve been so well loved and desired for so many years.

    I haven’t had to wonder how someone new might view this earthly container I inhabit.

    I think I’m ready.

    To share myself in this way.

    I think my husband is ready.

    But there are little fears still.

    What if it’s hard?

    What if taking this step, crossing this line, is so vulnerable I cry?

    Will this new connection be able to hold me in that?

    Will I be able to hold myself through that?

    And what if…

    It’s amazing.

    What if it’s not hard?

    What if it’s easy and natural and just flows through me?

    Is that ok too?

    Part of me can’t wait.

    To feel him up against me.

    His skin, his hands, his arms wrapped around me.

    This part feels excitement and giddiness and adrenaline.

    It just wants to lean in, to experience it all to the fullest.

    To dive into the deep end and trust I can swim to the surface.

    And part of me feels afraid, tender, anxious.

    This part wants to hold onto my monogamous identity with a white knuckled grip.

    I’ve always been so proud that I haven’t been with many people.

    That I never really dated.

    That I’d only ever loved two people.

    Like it made me a good girl.

    Made me sweet, innocent, pure.

    It’s always been so ingrained in me that these are the ideal qualities for a woman.

    That to have full agency of my sexuality and embody it fully would mean I was less somehow.

    Less lovable.

    Less honorable.

    Less sacred.

    If I shared my body with more people, then it would be less special and holy.

    That in this way, less is more.

    There’s grief around it for me.

    This deeply embedded belief system that is slowly untangling itself within me.

    Slowly, I’m awakening to the truth that my body and how I share it is mine and mine alone.

    It doesn’t belong to purity culture.

    It doesn’t belong to other people’s opinions.

    It doesn’t even belong to my husband.

    That my sexuality is sacred because of the reverence with which I hold it.

    That the choices I make are part of a beautiful tapestry, woven with different hearts and bodies yet still sanctified by my unique thread of love.

    Love for others but at its core, love for my self.

    I think I’m ready.

    Tonight.

    To weave that thread with another again.

    To merge my body with his for a moment in time.

    To share myself again in this way, and see who I am in that space now.

    To meet this new part of me for the first time, in this new realm.

    I’m nervous.

    I’m excited.

    I’m ready.

  • Witness

    I see you, young one.

    You, the newest part of me.

    Just born.

    Just stretching your limbs and breathing air into your lungs for the first time.

    I hear you, just finding your voice and marveling at the very sound of it.

    I know the rest of me is nervous, afraid even.

    I know the rest of me wants to keep you small and safe, to manage and control you.

    But I’m here, ready to witness who you are becoming in this world.

    I’m here, ready to let you grow and expand and thrive in all the ways you are needing.

    I’m here, ready to nurture your budding curiosity and desire for freedom.

    I’m here, ready to offer you spaciousness to be the wild and feral being that you are.

    I’m here, willing and able to hold room for you to make your own mistakes and find your own way.

    I’m not going to lock you up behind closed doors.

    I’m not going to keep you separate and caged from the rest of me.

    I promise, I will help you integrate and manifest fully within me.

    I see, really see, all the blessings and abundance you are bringing to all parts of my life.

    I understand that letting you breathe and become alive means all of me benefits and flourishes more.

    You are evolving, awakening from the darkness of slumber and mystery.

    You are unfolding right before my eyes, so beautiful and sparkling new.

    You are emerging, ready to be held and loved and tended to.

    I promise, I will do my best to walk with you and witness you on this journey we’re on together.

    I promise, I won’t turn away.