There’s now one less person in the world who loves me. And life feels that little bit heavier.
I spent my whole life dismissing the love from my family on the grounds that it wasn’t “chosen”. Well of course they loved me, they had no choice! I would feel miserable over the fact that I had never managed to “earn” the love of anyone outside of my family. No one with a free choice to make had actually chosen to love me. Silly me. Where on Earth did I get the idea that the love from your family is less important (or less worthy) because they have no choice but to love you? I blame the meritocracy. I wish I could write a book decrying the meritocracy. Of course my family didn’t choose to love me. No one ever chooses to love anyone! Love just happens. The highest expression of love between humans, that between the parent and the child, in particular the love of the parent for the child, is not chosen. Parents never choose their children. And who hasn’t fallen for someone they wished they hadn’t fallen for?
We have it all backwards. I got it all wrong. Obsessing about whether I was lovable enough or not. And of course, only someone with no bias towards me could be objective enough to judge my “lovability” correctly. Yes, I was, subconsciously, rationalizing love in those cruel terms.
What about my love for my family? After all, I didn’t choose to love them either. I guess I never even thought of my love for them being worth much.
I am a very loving person. And it’s one thing that comforts me: knowing that my family knows I love them.
And I wish these words were better written.