August 27, 2015

Let’s be Warriors of Love.


We haven’t met—at least, I don’t think we have.

Perhaps we have, and I just don’t recognize you yet. I keep looking for you in the faces of men I see.

I am impatient to start our life together. I want nothing more than to hear your voice, to make you laugh, to touch you and to smell that scent that is yours alone.

I want to share my space and freedom—and the adventure of life—with you.

I search for you in the men around me, longing to meet and know you.

At the same time, I’m afraid I’ll meet you and not be willing to let you in. See, I had a partner once—an amazing man I loved and shared my life with.

Then he died—and the daughter we created together was born still.

I’ve had to live without them.

It’s been hard—since they left—to allow anyone fully into my heart.

Loving again, in that way, feels scary.

I am afraid to love you—terrified I’ll open my heart to you, and somehow, you will leave me too.

I ache to know you, to love you and be with you—yet, I’m also afraid to do those things.

Dozens of fears crowd the doorway of my heart:

What if I love you, and you die or leave? 

What if you meet me, then turn away because I carry extra weight on this body of mine?

What if the depth with which I feel so much it is too much for you?

What if I can’t figure out how to let you in? 

What if you love me, but I’m too afraid and don’t let you? 

What if you want the children I can’t give to you?

And so I have built barricades and walls to hold pain and loss at bay. I often hide behind shields and social masks to keep from giving you the chance to find me and maybe leave me too someday.  I suspect, since you’ve done some living as well, that perhaps you might also have some walls and shields of your own.

I want you to know I’m learning to lay down my shields and barricades. I’m practicing how to love—how to open my fearful heart to let you in. If you meet me before I’m fully able to do that, please stay.

My heart is here for you, and I am working hard to clear the path to it.

If I try to run away, or push you away out of fear, please don’t give up on me. I won’t go far, and I will come back. I promise—if you persist—I will love you like no other. I will love you fully, deeply and unconditionally, for always. I will love you through life’s joys and love you through life’s deepest sorrows. I will love you through the arguments and irritations and through the passion and the celebrations.

Whatever walls and barricades you might have to take down yourself, I promise to stay and be there for you too. I won’t give up on you. Whatever losses you may have faced in your life, let me be the one who stays.

I want us to be brave in a world that has come to value safety and security over the vulnerability of love and connection. Too often we build these barricades to hold the world at bay.  We hoist shields and swords to defend our hearts and protect ourselves from hurt and disappointment.

I want us to be warriors of love.

Let us run from behind the safe and protective walls and seek the adventure of risking it all for love and vulnerability. Let us fight to be seen in all our real and raw beauty, with all our scars and imperfections and uncertain courage. Let us be wholly ourselves in a world that wants us to hide under the safety of shiny masks and glittery walls.

When one of us seeks safety behind the walls of the world, let the other build a door with an invitation back to the adventure.

Let us fight for each other. Let us break each other’s hearts and still choose to love. Let us disappoint each other and still choose to be vulnerable and let each other in.

In a world that would see us hiding behind walls, shields and masks—let us be each other’s safe harbor. Let us never give up on love, in all its real and raw beauty.

Let us all be warriors, who lay down our shields and swords—for love.



Sex, Emotions, Self & Reality!


Author: Emily Long

Editor: Yoli Ramazzina

Photo: Flickr/JoyceCorey

Leave a Thoughtful Comment

Read 0 comments and reply

Top Contributors Latest

Emily Long