Loved.

by Marilynn Halas on May 21st, 2012
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It’s easy to look at a newborn baby and smile. Whether we know that baby or not, most of us feel a warm glow inside and feel a bit protective over a little bundle of soft, sweetness and unmitigated innocence. Many of us also feel the nostalgia of our own little bundles now beyond that stage and smile to ourselves in the happy knowledge that we will sleep tonight. Whatever we may feel, the baby is probably feeling pretty good. Clean, warm and maybe even enjoying the affects of a milk buzz, there is nothing quite like the first few months of life when everything is awash with rose colored potential and the abject certainty that we are loved.

I know of no baby that feels the least compunction to earn love. In fact, most of the babies that I have known have no problem pushing that love to the limits. Late night feedings, endless diaper changes and midnight renditions of any and every song you ever knew, make those first few months a little reminiscent of vaudeville; you know, three shows a night and no cover charge.

It seems like we come into this world expecting to be loved and for most of us; that is exactly what happens: at first. For many of us though, something happens somewhere between knitted bonnets and hoodies worn to middle school. Something happens that many people spend the rest of their lives trying to deal with, whether they know it or not. It might be a careless remark or a momentary lapse; or it might be abject heartache or even abuse, but somewhere along the way, many of us wonder if it is still true. We wonder if we are still loved.

Moms and Dads are experts at giving. We give time, money and most of all love. We love without condition and without an end, but how many of us can accept love in the same way we offer it to others? When I gave birth to my first child there was a poem framed in my hospital room. I have spent many years wishing I had written it down, but for some reason, childbirth distracted me. The poem was poignant. It was called something like “When were you still precious?”

The poem asked a really interesting question. Everyone was born helpless and the fact that we survive today tells me that someone must have been there to care for us and love us. At some point, everyone was precious. Loved. When did we stop allowing ourselves to feel that way? The poem asks was it when we took our first steps? The first day of school? Our first bad grade? When we left home? When?

The end of the poem asked an even more important question. “When will the child you love so much stop feeling precious?” Naturally, the answer is NEVER. The trouble is, we are not always with that little bundle. At some point, our bundle is at daycare, or on the school bus or in a dorm room. So how do we do it? How do we show our children how to feel loved and cherished all their lives? The same way we teach them everything else, by example.

When was the last time you got a compliment that you actually let yourself enjoy? Relaxed enough to remember that love is a gift, not wages to be earned? Most of us understand that children need love to thrive and so do adults. To feel loved is to feel safe and relevant. It is as necessary for our spirit as food and water is for our bodies. It is a gift from God.

Feeling loved empowers all of us; accepting love is a reflex we are born with, but one that can go dormant without constant use. So let’s make developing that reflex as important as developing any other part of our children and ourselves. Being loved is a gift; accepting love is a skill. A skill that all of us need no matter how old we are.

So let’s do more than just keep our faces to the sun; let’s actually absorb the light.

Marilynn


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