‘Supposing a tree fell down, Pooh, when we were underneath it?’
‘Supposing it didn’t,’ said Pooh after careful thought.
Piglet was comforted by this.
You hear it but you never quite imagine how hard it is to walk away from the one you love, to cut away at your safety net, to slip through and climb down from the home you’ve created, of comfort, stability, simplicity. To plant your feet on the ground, look to each side and breathe a long, cleansing drag of your own actuality. To listen to the once deep-rooted murmurs that were always easier to ignore – “this is your life, this is your life” – that are now staring you square in the face, howling.
You lay out each and every part of you like tools on a workbench, blow away the settled dust, and rebuild. Your once shaky hands grab a hammer and accept the inevitability that you’ll crush your finger.
Loving another is fluid, uncomplicated. You do without question. Loving yourself is dirty and oftentimes painful. And when it’s nothing but your own restless murmurs reminding you of where you need to plant your feet, you take with you that love and you leave some behind to make room for a new kind. You embrace your newfound ability to accept and let go. That someone just can’t give you the things you can’t give yourself, and to continue to live out the dream and needs of another means that you’ll never allow yourself to feel the profound pleasure of crushing your own damn thumb.