I desire to be loved but I resist it. I resist it because the experience of being loved requires surrender. It’s painful. When someone tells me they love me my first response is one of two polar extremes, both of which are forms of refusal. I don’t believe them because the tape plays that if they really knew me they wouldn’t love me . . . so their love for me is based upon ignorance. Or I don’t believe them because I’m confident they love me because of what I’m able to do for them to merit their expression of love . . . so their love for me is based upon my performance.
Either way, I’m refusing the pain of surrender in exchange for the perceived security of control. If I can decide what is and is not lovable about me, I’m in control. If I can do enough to earn your love for me, I’m in control.
The most powerful force on the planet is love. In its purest form (where I’m both known and loved), love is also the most resisted force even while it is the most desired.
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