Grey Mouse Holes and Sparkly Closed Doors
I got triggered by something someone did the other day and it helped me identify a really old way of thinking and being that I’m 99.7% over. But that 0.3% jams me up from time to time, especially during the holidays. I don’t like that.
The 0.3% has something to do with wanting everyone to love me, like me, think I’m marvelous, or else I’m sunk. The 0.3% has me focused on the closed doors rather than the open ones.
The closed doors — to this warped 0.3% unhealed little girl part of me — look like magnificent gilded gleaming bejeweled wonders. As if getting these to open and let me through would be the key to wellbeing, love, and security. THEN I’d be okay.
And yet, they are the opposite, because they will never ever open. And focusing on these takes me away from all the open doors all around me. The ones that are already open, the love that is already there.
The open doors look like little grey brown mouse holes. Not enticing. Too awkward, too uncomfortable, to saunter through. But there they are. Easy.
This year I’m going to give it a whirl. I’m going for the mouse holes, the doors that are open. I’m going to feel what it feels like to just stop looking outside myself for that feeling of being loved, safe, good enough and know that I am all that.
I’m going to hold the little hand of that 0.3% part that is so hurt, so sad, and so fragile and tell her, “You are safe. You are loved. You can stop banging on that big golden door and enjoy your life as it is, being you, as you are.”
I’m gonna keep going.