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A few days ago WordPress offered its congratulations on my first blogging anniversary.

It’s been hard, at times it’s been nothing short of terrible. It’s been a steep learning curve and yet I have no way of discerning whether I have been a good student or not.

I know that 12 months ago I found myself for the first time feeling great, feeling strong, beautiful, confident and worthy. I know I lost all of those feelings along the way, plummeting to a depth far lower than I have been for the rest of my life. I know I have been climbing ever since. Trying hard to gain altitude again every day, sometimes slipping, sometimes gaining ground.

I haven’t reached the top yet, but I suppose I am not that far away anymore. I felt the air getting brisk last week, smelling like snow.

It had to do with two main events.

I managed to let go.
After a week of no invitations from Andrew and a refusal to my invitation, I decided to let go. It wasn’t the decision itself, it was the consequence. I felt liberated. I gained back satisfaction for my life, happiness to have my own goals, a sense of belonging somewhere in this world and no anxiety around the corner to spoil it all away in a minute.
I was lucid. And in that lucidity, I could really see this story with Andrew and understand feelings without having to sift them out of anxiety and attachment.

I stumbled upon Dr. BrenĂ© Brown’s talk on Vulnerability.
Half of the bloggers of this site talked about it and I see why. I watched the video and all I could think about was “here is the missing piece”. And its meaning, its lesson, I could understand now only thanks to the path I’ve walked in the past three years of therapy. In that moment, I realised how far I have come and how near I am to touch the tip of the mountain. After seeing the video, I knew everything would be alright if I could just stay focussed on the goal of finally finding and nurturing my vulnerability. If every action is guided by this, I will never make the same mistakes again.

And so it was, that after I had given up on Andrew, when he wrote me again, and again, and again finally asking me out, I knew very precisely what I had to do. I thought I would never see him again, and I was fine with it. Because I (thought I) knew he was not the kind of person I thought he was, wished he was. But I also knew I missed that person. It was the clearest image, because it was no longer about needing someone, it wasn’t about fear of abandonment, or inability to cope with life without someone. It was just about seeing the colours of a soul and missing the idea of finding out every possible shade.

I knew I had to come clean and tell him exactly what it looked like and how under no circumstance I was ready to accept this situation as the next best thing. It wasn’t the need of an answer, not really. I needed to say it, as a fist step to be seen. To learn what it feels like to expose yourself to fight for what you believe, because the day I will meet that special someone, I want to be ready to be the better version of myself.

There is no guarantee that someone may like you or love you back the way you love them, there is no control in feelings, but if there is a way to try to steer things your way it’s this. You let them know who you are, how deep your feelings are, how much you are ready to sacrifice for them, how you don’t care about shame and saving face when your relationship is at stake, how you and only you are who you are and they can have it all, because you offer it to them. You hold nothing back.

You may be wrong, you may well chose the wrong person, it could all go to waste. But more than anything else here it’s about not losing the magnificent opportunity of being right. Not talking yourself down into believing an imaginary worst case scenario just to avoid confrontation. Not crippling yourself with your own hands. And believing in miracles.

Because sometimes they happen.

They look nowhere near as glowing and explicit as you might think a miracle should, but that’s what they are: the 3D moulding of your shyest hopes and longings.

In a lifetime of self belittlement and insecurity, where you’ve been holding back in every single relationship you’ve had, it’s as insignificant as someone telling you it was all a misunderstanding while they hoped you would call.

It’s not that, someone hoping for you to call is not the miracle. It’s that you made it possible for the miracle to happen.