I am tired this morning. My body is still fighting off the candida, and The Man just left. I’m going to start titlecasing his presence. We woke up to high winds, 60 MPH gusts. It’s settled down now, and it looks like it’ll be a sunny day. We need it after the last four gloomy ones we’ve had here.

My time in town yesterday was fruitful. We had a date at Lowe's (the best kind of dates in my opinion). I like helping him with his work. He helps me with mine. We picked up two new LiFePO4 batteries for my RV. The minute we got back, The Man was already on forums, reading user manuals, and unscrewing electrical panels, figuring out exactly what I needed to install the batteries (they’re going to be super powerful for the RV and support a future solar setup). Is that not the most incredible thing? That is my love language: making things happen and helping me solve tough problems. I’m just speechless at how amazing he is.

Don’t drill holes in the RV

I’ve been asked to transport some willows to SunDance. I’ll be attending in eastern Arizona. It’s my first time. I’m looking forward to it, but I’m also nervous. It’s a lot to come into. It’s a Lakota tradition that I only know about because white people invited me, and mostly white people (as far as I can tell) will be going to. I feel guilty about that. There has also been considerable fraud and controversy surrounding SunDances.

I’ve been told that you shouldn’t pay for a SunDance ever. I’ve been told if you do get charged, that you should ask who’s profiting and where the money is going. I’ve been told that the cost pays for food and water and all other amenities at the event, but that “we never charge for ceremony,”…then what’s the charge for at all? I’ve been told this should be a collective activity. If you have extra firewood, you bring it. You don’t need to pay anyone for firewood. This is my first time; I am a white woman in foreign lands. I don’t know exactly what is right and wrong. We’re here to figure that out.

The willows will be cut in Boulder, and I will bring them to Arizona. They have to be wrapped in wet blankets and then tarped to keep them damp and malleable. I thought I could put them on the roof of the RV but I can’t willy nilly drill holes to make a roof rack (The Man thankfully figured this out before my impulsive ass drilled holes in the roof). I think we can ratchet strap them vertically to the ladder. They’re two-inch diameter, 9 feet long, a total of 9 or 10 of them…we’ll see how this goes.

The seasons of love

I saw a friend in the coffee shop yesterday. The last time we spoke intimately, she was giving me a constellation on love. We videoed it. She used it in a training. I think constellations are one of the most powerful healing modalities I’ve been a part of. When we did that one, I was pining over this guy who wanted nothing to do with me. I am so different a year and a half later, I can’t even feel that girl. We would never do that now: love someone who treated us badly, chasing after avoidance. It’s a testament to my growth and healing. I feel secure in relationship for the first time in my life. I can love and be loved, and that doesn’t break me. I can move through my emotions. I can see red flags clearly. I might still move fast, but I am not doing it from a place of wounding. Love has no rules.

We talked about how love comes in seasons. 

The heart is open and ready.

It dances and sings.

It moves into maintenance.

Maybe we shouldn’t do this at all?

It breaks.

It rests and hibernates.

It's ready again.

I find this to be true of my own heart. The last relationship I had lasted two years (with a 3-month breakup in between). I was single for a little more than a year. Hibernating in a sense. Being with myself. My healing. I wasn’t going to let a relationship like that happen again. He didn’t love me. I don’t think I loved him.

When I found out I was pregnant two weeks after we broke up, I was devastated. I couldn’t believe this had happened. I knew the exact moment it did. He was being risky, avoidant, selfish. He didn’t think of me or us. I didn’t speak up. This is my body. I hold the boundary. I know that now. It’s the kind of thing I would never let happen again. And I don’t mean the pregnancy, but I mean allowing a soured relationship to go on, and not creating a family system that could support a pregnancy. I won’t sleep with a man unless I feel he could be there for me and a child. I know how it feels not to live by this rule. I wish it had been clearer when I was younger, but I’m here to make mistakes, and that’s okay.

It still hurts to think about how men have treated me in the past, and how I’ve let them treat me. You’re responsible for every part of your life, good and bad. I’m doing it now. The Man treats me better than anyone ever has. It fills me with so much joy, and I’m tender. I’m sober, writing about that past relationship. I’m soft, thinking about this current one. The pains of our past are here to remind us of what we’re no longer available for.

And the beauty of love now—the kind I’m learning to receive—is that it doesn’t cost me my dignity. I don’t have to abandon myself to stay. I don’t have to shrink to be chosen.

Love can be simple. Sweet. Healing.

And still, the heart remembers.

Not to ache—but to recognize just how far it’s come.

With love,

Valerie