I was crying as I hit send on a message that would end something I didn’t want to end.
I so badly wanted it to continue. That wanting was laced deep in my bones and tied up with the dreams I had created in my heart. Deciding to let go of that want, of that pulsing, all consuming desire, was an incredibly painful thing to do. But somewhere, amongst all that pain, was the realisation that I had decided to love myself instead, and that realisation felt a lot like freedom.
Loving ourselves is not something we do enough. Women in particular, are especially bad at this. I have sat with countless women as they told me their stories of love. Of the love they had piled onto the men in their life, who couldn’t or wouldn’t give it back. Of the love affairs that lingered, of the men that held…
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