I have a secret to tell you...

It's not about him having betrayed me, at all. It's about what that means to me on the inside.

Truth pulls out her spindly fingers and prods and pokes at internal wounds. She challenges self-worth, as though pulling at body parts for a health check up. Seems that generally speaking we're not all that healthy and so she keeps on prodding until the work is done.

So often it's easier to turn a blind eye to the cuts and scream at the Truth Monster for prodding it. "How fucking dare you HURT me?!" Here we let infection fester and conveniently dilly dally around in our own perfect-seeming life. Here we wonder why things are happening to us and cry that life isn't fair. Funny though. If she'd prodded healthy spaces there would be no pain at all.

My dears - she's welcoming us, to pay attention. To pitch our fine four walls and call for sacred space. She's opening the door to dive deep into the shadows, to find our own medicine. To heal.

He cheated and cheated, hurt, broken, calling for guidance and solace. (I implore you to visit the depths of men, the hurt that is carried in the pit of their stomach is the weight of a thousand unreleased oceans) I screamed at him. I threw my fists in all directions and called him every dying dirty derogatory name under the sun.

I abused him, I justified the perpetuaton of hell and advocated for his demise, branding it across his face and shitting on the crown I gleefully put on his head. I hurt him, I hurt myself. His face, my heart, I ripped everything to pieces. in And there, deep down, I found the many unresolved non-related damaged pieces of MY story - to see that all along I had been cheating myself.

My boundaries had been disrespected, by myself and then him too. I paved the way. He had loved me the way I loved myself. He offered a direct divine reflection.

Do you see?

Beauties - Life is a reflection. A remarkable one. And we can hide from it for comfort or we can step in to the lair of Ms Truth to be prodded and poked and healed until our love is the deepest emotion and our contraction is for rest only, rather than survival.

I have a story to tell. A story which no longer dictates my days the way it once did.

I have a story of shadows and secrets, stumbles and falls. A story of commitment, compassion and honoring what it is to be human. Beautifully and brokenly, radiantly so.

May we rise to ourselves to know each other. May we hold each other close to know self.