Real Love

I am frequently appalled by the way it seems easy for people to ignore the reality of loving action.

In the extremity of emotion, mistreatment and disrespect seems like love.

I love you so much it makes me crazy.

I love ME so much I can't let you treat me this way.

I love THEM so much I will be a force of violence in the world (for them).

Should a person respond to a flood of disrespectful accusations with levelheaded curiosity, they might be accused of not really caring.

So love's curiosity, love's patience, love's willingness to understand, can seem to be a lack of love, while unloving disrespect and projections can seem to be the height of love, because they are the height of intensity.

I used to have this same confusion, until one day I woke up to it.

Love is in the actions. Love is in the moment to moment way I speak to my loved ones. Love is in the moment to moment narrative I'm crafting in my head about what I'm showing up for and why, and how.

Disrespect is not love. Blame is not love. Criticism and shame are not love. Resentment, contempt, frustration, cruel projections

are

not

love.

Truly, all love begins in the heart of the beholder, in the mind which chooses curiosity and understanding when faced with confusion, when faced with disappointment, when faced with reality as it diverges from dreams.

I used to think it was so generous when someone would share their projection of me with me, to heal it.

"I thought you were mad at me."

"Thank you for sharing your vulnerable truth."

Now I understand it as generous in a different way.

Now I'm listening closely—how do you think of me when I am not around?

Am I a pawn in your life, black or white, servant or enemy? Do all of my actions imply something about YOU? Or do you revere the way I am the queen on my own chessboard, and stay sharpening your own game?