There's something to say about being alone. I find comfort in myself. Not in an idea of myself, but my being; my breathing, my touch, the way my body moves, and how good it feels to smile and drink water; how good it feels to sprawl out on the bed at night, turn up the music and dance, how healing it feels to paint or write, or practice yoga.

From this comfort comes my power to love to myself.

I have been working in the garden alone, cradling the little lettuces, and gently placing them into their new home in this bed I made for them. I have found comfort in the unforgiving, rocky soil, the unrelenting rain, followed by the endless, humid, sunny days.

From this comfort comes my power to care for myself.

I have given you my power.

I am taking it back. I have leaned on you, expected of you, and looked to you for my comfort and my happiness. I know what makes me happy; putting my hands into the soft soil, stretching my body, eating vegetables from the garden, being grateful...

But this change may throw this quiet love off balance. You will hold someone else in your arms, and then I will push you away, because I am afraid of losing my power. I can only love you when I have taken the time to love myself. I can only let you be close to me, when I have told myself that I am worthy.
I am worthy.
I am worthy.