“You aren’t afraid of love. You’re afraid of all the junk you’ve yoked to love.”

-Dear Sugar

Because I felt that I was being fed love when really I was being fed tracking devices and razor blades. I attached a bewildered, terrified, and damaging essence to a word I didn’t really understand at the time.

Learning, and then knowing, what was love and what was killing me was an important lesson that began taking place when I decided to acknowledge that my anxieties were memories stored underneath my skin.

So what did I yoke to love? The idea that I’m too broken for something so beautiful, that it’s something that only exists in a romantic sense, that it’s something some people get, but not me.

Unyoking these pieces of junk is an ongoing practice.

I will sever the toxicity that attached itself to the deranged sort of  love I was offered (and so will you).


In comparison, my sideways journey, my jagged path, will always be unfamiliar to those who never needed to consider their choices.

I can never be as impressive as you; I adorn my portfolio with places and skills and projects and causes. But I am bare.

I can’t keep up.

I won’t keep up.

I’m not designed to keep up.

I am absurd and awkward and weird and misguided and blunt and unrefined; I practice leading with the wrong.

You reflect to me all the things that I didn’t know to reach for.  And this leaves me anxious and strange.

my beauty is found along my fault lines

If a peahen can’t reproduce with the peacock she wants, she chooses not to reproduce at all. But it’s not just about procreation in the animal kingdom. Sometimes swans fall in love with boats. How is it our place to delegitimize that love? Why? Because it’s not heteronormative? That swan will never have a biological baby with that boat, but if that boat blows away, she will cry for days and years. And she might also choose to never mate again.

What I’m saying is that even birds get broken hearts and have a hard time imagining love with somebody else once they’ve made their choice. Sometimes we choose birds that fly away. Sometimes we choose boats that were never ours to love.

Sometimes we fall for people who inspect buildings for their ability to withstand earthquakes.  We keep them at arm’s length so they don’t discover that we can’t withstand even the smallest shake. Because we live on a fault line. We are at increased risk of breaking.

(reflections from Elizabeth Grosz, Becoming Undone: Darwinian Reflections on Life, Art and Politics, 2013).