“If you have never been loved for who you really are, you don’t know what to do with that kind of love other than run from it.” Becky Blanton
I was cruising the WWW highway, finding and reading lesbian blogs from around the world because I am terminally, insatiably curious that way.
After several hours I stopped reading. Not because they aren’t important, interesting, or compelling or meaningful; they are. I stopped because a fair amount of what I was reading breached my boundaries and my heart couldn’t take it all in.
Some of what I read took my breath away. Tears rolled down my face at what women shared. Some in our global lesbian tribe are in pain and there wasn’t a space in their writing for them to breathe for a second. I wished I could do something to help them breathe but quickly reminded myself that’s silly and impossible.
At the same time, I carry this sense that sometimes, every once in a while, the impossible is possible, so I took a deep yogic breath and wished anyway. What I wished was that I could wrap my arms around the women who are lesbians who:
are afraid right now; afraid of the bad love or no love; afraid to leave or to stay; afraid of the bills or homelessness, afraid of someone finding out, afraid of their family’s rejection, afraid to ask for help, not knowing what help they need. I’d sit with them a while. Not to wipe away tears or tell them it will be ok. Just sit with them a while. Til they remember to take a deep steady breath again.
are home with a newborn baby is not going to live much longer, or who work with the asshole boss who’s sucking their soul and darkening their spirit. I’d sit with them a while. Not to wipe tears and tell them that it will be okay. Just sit with them a while. Til they remember to take a deep steady breath again.
have hearts that are splintering and breaking from the love that’s just left or never will be, or of hopes dashed, or from grief over the loss of a someone who has died. I’d sit with them a while. Not to wipe tears and tell them that it will be okay. Just sit with them a while. Til they remember to take a deep steady breath again.
are trying to come to grips with just being told that they have stage four breast cancer and that after their double mastectomy surgery they get chemotherapy this time and even that’s not a guarantee of removing the cancer. I’d sit with them a while. Not to wipe their tears and tell them it will be ok. Just sit with them a while. Til they remember to take a deep steady breath again.
We forget to breathe when life gets tense. Our chest tightens and we don’t get the oxygen we need to calm and steady our mind, to put one foot in front of the other, to get through.
Sometimes we get trapped by what we believe or we don’t know what we believe so we begin to think that there is a cause and effect machine around: eat bacon, be stressed, get cancer. Think someone’s wonderful and kind, get heart ripped out. Be who other people expect us to be, be afraid that no one will ever know us. Or we fall into thinking how random everything is and that our actions have no consequence to anyone anywhere in our own corner of the universe at all anyway so what does it matter? Or we aim for a certain kind of madness, trying to make sense, and to find out WHY?
Some people find answers to that question of WHY. There are many people who believe all is fated — by God or the gods or because there is a lesson we need to learn and this fate makes things happen, however fate is directed or enacted: by the will of God or the gods or the universe in some form or another, or the trajectory of a string of decisions both small and large until we find ourselves wondering how the hell we got here and what do we do?
But we are here, now and no amount of wondering why changes what’s right in front of us. And there are women who are lesbians feeling the weight of untold worlds on their shoulders and hearts for countless reasons and they are alone with that weight and that sorrow. Or feeling alone, which pretty much amounts to the same thing.
Being a lesbian does not give us immunity from everything else in the world, the joys, the loves, the loss, the fears, the heartache, the wonder, the illness, poverty, reality TV, kids, all of it — life and death. We are the same and we are different from every other human on the earth. And because we are women, oh joy, we get all that with a period and later, with menopause. DOUBLED when we have a life partner, wife, lover, girlfriend. Because we like to so totally need to live on THAT edge.
I like the view of the world we live in, of life, of the universe, of the cosmos that says: huge and odd and rare things happen all the time. Billions of years ago, stars exploded millions of light years away and as a result, we all carry inside us bits of stardust from those exploding stars. It’s my hope that in whatever way that rare, and odd things happen, for the women who need it, that someone will find them and unexpectedly sit with them a while. Not to wipe tears and tell them that it will be okay. Just sit with them a while. Til they can take a deep, steady breath again.