You don’t know how loved you are

A personal story. A reflection on being seen, and trusting that you are more loved and valued than you could ever possibly know.

I recognised her when I saw her – though I had never actually met her. I recognised her as one of my own.

We were on holiday. In an attempt to lift us both from the pits of suffering we were cowering in, my partner carefully selected a teashop in the mountains to take us to. This, we hoped, would help shift the clouds of anxiety and depression that were plaguing us. It had become apparent that our holiday wasn’t for relaxation, but was more so an opportunity to catch up with ourselves. Our minds had gone slightly haywire once given the time and space, and the processing weighed heavy.

She – the one I recognised – was running the cafe alone. She was big-boned and tattooed with cropped hair and a heavy expression. She scared me at first. She looked as though she might bite if provoked, so I hung back, observing from a distance.

Based on appearances alone, I assumed she was gay. I put my arms around my girlfriend in the hope that she would soften, seeing that we were like her.

My attempts to reach her worked, somewhat, in that she smiled and asked how our drinks were when she bought us the scone we’d ordered. Looking down, I noticed a couple of thick scars on her arms. Here was evidence of something deeper stirring within her. Once she’d walked away I looked down at my own arm, still bandaged from a recent attack that I had had by my own hand. At that moment I remembered that she was hidden beneath the sharpness of her shell. The hard expression and strong physique were suddenly less offensive. I saw the sadness and vulnerability; a lost soul in desperate need of a fucking big hug.

It’s difficult to describe this next part, but I’ll give it a go:

As I watched her, seeing into her soul, I was struck with a sudden clarity. I could see how loved she was. I could see how worthy and perfect she was, regardless of the efforts she had made to (over time) construct a self that both physically and behaviorally repels others. I no longer bought into it. I could see how powerful she was. And free. I saw the creative Being in her that could be, have, or do anything. All at the same time, I could see how oblivious she was to what I was seeing. She likely couldn’t see or feel it at all.

You might think I’m a bit creepy by this point, but I persevere –

I wanted to leave her a note. I wanted to write her a little something on a piece of paper, saying something like this:

‘I see you. I see your pain and I see your strength. Thank you for still being here. I love you. You are more loved and valued than you could possibly ever know.’

I guess the creep factor caught up with me at this point, because I never left a note.

It did leave me thinking, however. Seeing what I saw in her – I wish I could see that in myself. I’m sure others look at me and see the same thing: How loved and perfect and worthy I am, just as I am.

This has stayed with me for some weeks. I’m finding it increasingly easy to look at others and see their wholeness. I suppose I’m looking at them through the eyes of Source. (Source being God; a higher power, or whatever you choose to call it.)

What I’m working on now, is to turn it back on myself – to look at myself through the eyes of Source. For if I can do that, it might just help to save me in this lifetime. I am sure I too am more loved than I could ever possibly know.