confessions after surgery

confession: i had out-patient surgery on my left leg yesterday. ouch. i remind myself this pain indicates healing.

confession: earlier this week a few people offered if they could do or bring anything for me after surgery. in my ultra-independent i-hate-seeming-needy way, i graciously declined. then, an insensitive jerk who knew i had surgery sent me angry blaming emails an hour into my recuperation and left heavy things outside my door that i’m not allowed to lift, as per post-surgery instructions. yesterday was another obvious sign indicating which people are prime for my love, time, and energy and which people i’m meant to avoid.

confession: this morning while hobbling around, i realized my current post-surgery state is an opportunity for me to receive help and support. i gratefully receive within my comfort zone (please send love messages via text, email, or blog comment). i’m willing to receive slightly beyond my comfort zone if you creatively sneak the care-taking past my stodgy inner stoic.

confession: i’m no longer attracted to his version of love fringed with abuse. i’m leaning into love all around me. there is more love available to me and within me than i was aware. i am freaking fantastically lovable!

confession: his wounds and weaknesses weren’t mine. he blamed me for them. i believed him for a while. now i can discern the difference between his wounds and my wounds, between his weakness and my weakness, between his cowardice and my cowardice. my wounds, weakness, and cowardice led me to choose him. my healing, strength, and courage led me away from him.

confession: after therapy sometimes i go to the jewish deli in the nearby grocery store and treat myself to a potato knish. jewish food is comfort food for my ancient german transplanted self.

confession: i was already leaving because i didn’t like the way he was speaking to me. as i approached the door, he yelled from across the house, “get the fuck out” (plus some other expletives that i don’t care to repeat). i decided as he cursed at me that i was taking the stunning stratocaster guitar i had given him as a valentine’s gift with me. i felt bad about taking back the gift, until i consulted four people i trust who universally asserted that i was justified in taking the guitar. i re-gifted that guitar to someone i love who loves me, loves learning, and is already loving learning to play the guitar. the new owner of the guitar will teach me as he learns.

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About angel joy

love is an action verb. i live love in action.
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One Response to confessions after surgery

  1. This is one of my memorized poems. It comes to me right when I need it. And it came while I read your post. It’s not the most complex poem, but the intention is beautiful
    Music: Ralph Waldo Emerson

    Let me go where’er I will,
    I hear a sky-born music still:
    It sounds from all things old,
    It sounds from all things young,
    From all that’s fair, from all that’s foul,
    Peals out a cheerful song.

    It is not only in the rose,
    It is not only in the bird,
    Not only where the rainbow glows,
    Nor in the song of woman heard,
    But in the darkest, meanest things
    There alway, alway something sings.

    ‘T is not in the high stars alone,
    Nor in the cup of budding flowers,
    Nor in the redbreast’s mellow tone,
    Nor in the bow that smiles in showers,
    But in the mud and scum of things
    There alway, alway something sings.

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