Claiming myself

Some day….. they will come

I have accidentally spent an awful lot of my life waiting to be claimed. 

Ever busying and improving myself, chasing down achievements and accolades, I distracted myself from a covert motivation.

My desire was to be desirable, so I could hot step my way out of the lost baggage department, where a small part of me still located myself.

I wanted to be wanted. To belong. To someone or something. Was it me? Was it them? When would the day come? What could I do? When finally I could get out of the infernal waiting area of unclaimed luggage and reach my destination, tripping off to some fabulous other place on someone else’s arm?

I didn’t know I was acting like this. I even didn’t really clock I thought this way. It was just a low buzzing annoying hum, like a sonic mosquito repeller. Under the radar beliefs.

Want me, claim me, own me, MINE

It felt romantic to be claimed. To have ‘your person’. They would be mine and I would be theirs. We would invent our little world. No one could come in. It would be so magical and safe.

The problem is if no one can come in, no one can get out. It’s sort of suffocating to create this kind of bubble.

When people did try and claim me, after a while it didn’t feel good. It felt controlling. I didn’t feel claimed, I felt owned. When I tried to do it to others, I felt anxious. I had them now but what if they left me? How long was my claim for?

Either way I couldn’t breathe. I wanted my freedom.

And then after a bit of space, I didn’t again. Perhaps they weren’t the right one. Perhaps there was something wrong with me and my choosing.

Who did I belong to? Where was this person? What more could I do? The yearning, the searching, the dreaming was sometimes delicious and other times so painful. 

I needed to claim myself

There has been only one route out of the fantasy and agony of the unclaimed luggage room for me and that has been to claim myself.  

To claim all of me - the shonky bits, the ragey bits, the sexy bits, the loud laughing bits, the outrageous bits, the dark bits, the helpless weeping bits, the bits that don’t know, the make mistaking bits, the selfish bits, the loving bits and childish bits. To expand my awareness and acceptance large enough to claim all of it, as all branches of power and life force.

Every thing I said about the other person, the urges I had to ‘want all of someone’ belied a deeper longer to belong completely to myself, and stop pushing the vulnerable or crunchy bits of me away. To own myself.

I don’t want to disown myself or leave myself unclaimed any longer. I am not luggage. My heart is too big for a suitcase that any human could carry. 

I don’t want to give anyone else the god-like power of whether or not I am readmitted into the wide world as a valid member. 

I don’t belong to anyone but myself. I claim myself. I belong to me. I am mine own. 

And that doesn’t mean next Valentines Day I don’t want an expensive dinner and to wear a lavish dress, have witty conversation and be adored and go dancing and laugh a lot and have lots of sex.

It doesn’t mean I don’t need people, lovers or friends in my life or never feel like I need help or am totally solidly dependent on myself all the time and never wobble or want a cuddle or to feel looked after

It doesn’t mean that I don’t desire a loving and connected intimate romantic relationship with arguments about the washing up and closing the bathroom door and various different human frustrations.

It just means I’m not waiting on someone showing up to give me permission to be bold and out in the world and live as vibrantily and juicily as possible.