How do we mix those two: honesty and love?  Especially when “love” was shown to be such a an act in some ways.  We “love” the brownies, our car, your story, my dress.  Even if someone said “I love you” when I was a kid, I guess I felt it, but when nothing else was said, no other information or intimate thoughts or feelings, it came out and grew into a goodbye greeting. I find I do that now–I wonder if I mean it–“Goodbye, I love you.”

Ha, maybe the two of them together was a real linkage: If I love you, I have to say goodbye.  Or just as I’m leaving I’ll tell you I love you.  Or it was the last word instead of the first.

Plus there was an act about loving in the family.  I do something for you, thus it equals that I love you.  And that turned out to be I have to always be doing something for you to prove that I love you.  And since you don’t do anything for me, you obviously don’t love me.  “Love means never having to say you’re sorry,” was a phrase that always seemed like a lie.  Or a cover up.  If I love you I don’t have to say I’m sorry.  What kind of love is that–not to admit mistakes or gaffs or stepping in it and tracking it all over the carpet of our lives?

In any case, I’m learning more and more about how to do this combination.  “I don’t feel comfortable right now.”  “I’d rather not, thanks.”  “Can I have a hug?”  “Can I give you a hug.”  “I don’t want to be with you.”  “I don’t agree with you.”  Those phrases seem simple, but they have been only evident since I recognized I wasn’t being honest, and that I could express my truth without setting fire to the house.

These days I practice and practice making honest love to myself.