A few weeks ago, I had my first ever Reiki session. I had been looking for various ways to help me process, chill out, meditate, sort myself out in other words and I thought I’d try Reiki.
The experience was pretty unexpected, I will admit. The night that followed the session, I broke down in tears when I got to bed, even though I had been feeling fine up to then, and as I found myself in the fetal position, I soon realised I was starting to connect with my inner child.
The lady who carried out the Reiki told me after the session that something bad had happened to me a long time ago and I had spent all my life building a wall to protect myself from pain and to be able to function, and that my wall had started to crumble. She said I needed to take it easy as I was very vulnerable at the moment.
Straight away, I thought she was referring to my first sexual experience, which had been really bad. But soon after I realised that I had it wrong. The experience I had tried to forget and protect myself from was my first love.
His name was Pierre, I met him on holiday with my parents in Spain. We had a magic month together in August when I was 15.
I don’t remember much of that month truth be told. All I remember is the heartbreak I felt when we went our separate way and the way he treated me after.
For a year and half after we parted, I wrote to him many times, 13 if my memory serves me right and not once did he answer my letters. My heart broke in millions of pieces.
I became obsessed with him. I even started to write a book of our story, my journey.
I found out a couple of years later when I managed to get his number, quite by chance, that the reason why he ignored me was he had decided we were too young to stay involved and we had to take our own paths in life without the interference of love (we lived the other side of each other in France) and so thought ignoring my letters was the best way for me to forget about us.
I have kept a folder I used to write my thoughts into when I was that age and recently decided to read it again. My heart broke when I read how 15/16 year old me struggled to make sense out of his abandonment at the time. I actually teared up and desperately wanted to hug the old me, a nice big tight hug and let me cry in my arms. This is when I realised it was this that broke me. Going through this immense pain and no-one to understand. Who really takes notice of a heartbroken 15 year old?
And so after this terrible experience, I started to protect my heart. I would never let anyone close enough to do this to me again. Except I did, many a time, because I was desperate to be loved. I looked for love in all the wrong places. I now realise it was because I didn’t love myself. If He, Pierre, could abandon me after such a powerful love we felt, I cannot have been lovable. So I wanted someone to prove to me I was by giving me love.
I now know you cannot love someone who doesn’t love themselves however, and so my search was futile.
My heart recently got broken into million of pieces again, when my husband and I separated and he chose to see my best friend instead.
This is going to be the last time my heart gets broken…because now, finally, I love who I am. I don’t need anyone to make me realise I am worth it. I know I am.
The next person I choose to give my heart to, will hold it til death do us part as I shan’t settle for less. And I am quite prepared to be alone for a long time til this day come that I meet my soulmate. I am using this time wisely. I am re-discovering who I am every day, working on rebuilding that person who Pierre broke. Bit by bit.
One day, I shall be ready to meet him again. One day, I will be whole again. This is my journey.