Butterfly

Agust 29, 2024, en NY, USA

Musik

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I wake up, I post on Instagram, and instantly, there he is. He greets me with a "good morning" and calls me a "wonderful human being." I reply, we dive into conversation, and from him I receive a thousand words of recognition and love: "I'm proud of you," "You are magnificent," "Goddess, you're going to have a wonderful day." And so, my love language is nurtured. Like never before, my love language is nurtured.

However, I sigh, I take a deep breath, and I cry. I cry because he makes me feel special, but also because it’s not my man’s gaze that looks at me this way, they are not his words that recognize me, it is not him who admires me and reminds me how magnificent I am. I know, I feel all of this for myself; I don't need anyone else to make me feel great. I take responsibility for what I feel and for how I want to feel.

It's been years of being accompanied, feeling the illusion of being complete, of being full, but that sensation doesn't nourish me. In other words, it's a love that fills me, but it doesn't feed me. I have tried, time and again, to lead him lovingly through my map of love, of physical touch and recognition… I have explained every symbol of my legend, faithful and patient, over and over again. But I am the one who has refused to see. I am the one who has insisted on trying to teach something he can neither see nor understand. It is not I who can set him free, nor is it my 14 years of loyalty and calm.

Where have you gotten stuck, my Lali? Right there, directing and shouldering everything that isn't yours to bear.

I don't care what the people who know me think, and much less those who don't; I don't even know who they are. Probably, many of you have been where I am now: giving up what you deserve for an invisible loyalty, for attachments, insecurity, and fear. This is how we let go of incredible people who don't know how to respond to another's love language. And here we are, with our little love plant, waiting for someone to nourish it, but it never grows; without sun, without soil, without air, without water, it just never grows.

I began to nourish myself. To touch myself, to feel my skin, my face, my breasts, my yoni; to love myself and arouse myself while reminding myself how magnificent I am. I stopped waiting for someone else to make me feel loved. And as I gifted myself so much love and words of affirmation, new stems began to grow. I am that plant that stopped growing so I wouldn't be greater than him.

We began dancing the journey of life to the same rhythm, learning together, vibrating to the beat of each dance. One, two, three. One, two, three. But then, I moved on to the second level, while he, trapped between commitments and distractions, waited for me to come back from my class to teach him the new steps. My love for him was so great that I couldn't wait to get home and share with him everything new I had learned. One, two, three. One, two, three. And in that new dance, there were touches, body-to-body brushes, bursts of laughter and giggles after every tangle. A deep gaze, an "I love you," and we would make love.

Over time, I got too far ahead, while he remained on the first level, busy and distracted, waiting for me to return and teach him, once more, what I had learned through so much effort, courage, and sacrifice. It was energy and time he expected me to spend all over again, to do for him what he refused to do for himself.

"I never wanted to be your teacher; I want to be your lover."

Now it weighs on me to come home, knowing that I have to teach you. I want to learn, too. I'm depriving myself of the time that other greats could be dedicating to me; I'm denying myself the chance to dance with someone who can lead me. I shouldn't be the one leading you, my love. Now I want to go out dancing with someone who makes me sweat and vibrate with every rhythm and movement. And that, I don't have with you. It hurts to say it, but I don't have it, and I probably never will in this lifetime.

This world belongs to the brave. There are those who surrender to life, leaving their bulletproof vests behind, and there are those who are consumed by fear in their straitjackets. I am a bird that has escaped its cage. I was patient while I watched the flight of others, hopping from one side to the other to find food, protect myself from predators, and wait… wait for my wings to grow back, so that once they were whole, I could exercise them until I gained strength and power. And now that I can fly, after so much calm, pain, and sacrifice, I WILL NEVER ALLOW FEAR TO RETURN ME TO WHERE I NEVER SHOULD HAVE BEENI am no longer the caged bird; I am a SOVEREIGN, FREE, AND POWERFUL bird that will never renounce its freedom.

I invite you, my lalilovers, to define what your love language or languages are—yours, your children's, and your partner's. Physical touch, words of affirmation, gifts, acts of service, quality time… This is like a lung in our relationships. Love and open yourselves to being loved deeply, just as you deserve. There are several websites that allow you to take a test to define your love language. But simply asking yourself how you feel loved will bring you closer to your answer.

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With love for myself, with love for you,

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Lali