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At what point does too much compassion become self-sabotage?

And is the act of giving compassion coming from a true authentic place or is it me just people pleasing so that I am not abandoned?

These are questions that I’ve had to sit and ask myself. In my last post I asked the question Why? But now my questioning has included How? At some point in my previous relationship I kept asking myself How did I get here? The question became so prevalent and consistent that it became the mantra of that period of my life. I was desperate to get to the bottom of what got me into the mess that I was in.

Something that I would tell my children is that their present is a direct correlation to past thoughts, ideas, decisions and choices. And if they wanted a different present than what they were experiencing, then they had to make different decisions and think different thoughts to get them to a different outcome. You know how it’s always easier to give other people advice than to follow your own? Once I began to see my life playing out in a way that felt all too overwhelming to even understand, it was not easy for me to take ownership of how I got there.

But I had a revelation. Many of my relationships have been an attempt to try and recreate something that I had for only a fleeting moment. A relationship that became the litmus test for every single relationship that I would be in even to this very moment. I was young but knew that what I was feeling and experiencing was real love. And he loved me too. I recall that time in my life with such sweet tenderness and fond memories of a powerful love that came in like a cool spring breeze but left in a flash of lightning. There are three pivotal moments in my life that have shaped me. The sexual trauma I experienced, the death of my biological mother and the death of my boyfriend and father of my oldest daughter.

Maybe one day I will talk about that love and what it felt like at the time in greater detail but just know that it was with him that I began to believe in fairytales. Memories always have a way of being more and more rose colored as times marches forward. The tint, like sepia tone on photos, has a thin veneer over the image that gives it a more romantic feel. But I can say that I know without a doubt that what I remember is not too far off from what was real.

So how does this love tie into my shadow work? Well, this was the relationship that revealed to me that not only was I deserving and worthy of receiving love but I was also worthy and deserving of giving it too. When he died I internalized his death as confirmation that I was not worthy. God was punishing me for being bad. All of this stems from the sexual trauma that I experienced at a young age. Though there was nothing that I did to cause that to happen to me I still carried the guilt and shame for years as if I could have done anything different. My safety strategies made it so that I could not only endure the trauma, but survive it.

But the battle scars that I bore haunted me for all of my life up until this point. I told myself that I was inherently bad, that I was the cause of all the suffering, abandonment and death in my life. I felt like a walking toxic slug that caused damage everywhere I went. As I got older I made emotional decisions from that wounded place with the underlying narrative of being inherently bad. So when this person came along and saw past all that sludge and made the choice to love me, and did it in a way with such tender and patience, to loose that felt devastating.

So I’m embracing the shame and I’m loving it rather than condemning it. I’m turning to face into those wounds and having a talk with my younger self. I think she needs to know from me that I took her for granted. All the external validation and forgiveness I crave I need to be giving to myself. I’m in the process of writing a letter to my younger self and telling her all that I wish to say and hear. I’ll let you know how it goes.