Someday You Will Be Loved

by Susan Pogorzelski on December 8, 2010 · 3 comments

But I know your heart belongs
to someone you’ve yet to meet
someday you will be loved.
You’ll be loved, you’ll be loved
like you never have known…
Death Cab For Cutie, “Someday You Will Be Loved”

#Reverb10 is a blogging initiative that provides prompts every day for the month of December with the intent of reflecting on the past year and looking forward to what’s to come. While I can’t promise that I’ll be rising to the challenge of blogging every day, reflecting on the past for future growth is pretty much in this blog’s description, and so I’m glad to be a part of this movement.

Are you taking part? Let me know! I’d love to see your own reflections and words on how you’d like to manifest positive change in the coming year.


 

The Prompt

“Beautifully different. Think about what makes you different and
what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you
different – you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful.”

A few nights ago, as I sat on the rug in my home office, unpacking yet more boxes of books that I had shoved into a corner when I moved, I found a journal I had kept when I was with my ex-boyfriend, documenting what I had called a love story.

I wish I could say I’m embarrassed by what I’d written — my sixteen-year-old self denying what she was feeling, claiming that all she wanted was friendship until one day she realized that she felt something more and how quickly that turned to love.

I thought it might make me sad — reading details I had somehow forgotten with the passing of time, remembering how the relationship had naturally blossomed and knowing how it would eventually end.

I turned the pages, trying to figure out what it was I was feeling as I read the scribbled tale of my youth. Was it embarrassment, sadness, regret?

But wait. I was smiling. I realized what I was feeling was the simple pang of nostalgia — the quiet kind, the kind when memories come alive in one moment and are easily put to rest the next.

I’m lucky to have had such a young love story, to have learned what it meant to love and to have it change me in ways I could have never envisioned. As I flipped through those pages of the journal, I saw just how innocent I was back then, marveling at the newness of it all. I’d never experienced those feelings before, had never dated, and had really only ever had crushes that were rarely reciprocated and, even then, I was sixteen and naive. So when everyone tried telling me that he liked me, I denied it, shrugging it off, proclaiming that we were “just friends” because I didn’t think anything else was possible.

How could someone like me? My sixteen-year-old self scrawled in that journal. What does he possibly see in me that I can’t see in myself?

The answer was everything.

Finding love — and inevitably losing love — has taught me more about myself than I believe any other experience thus far: how to love, how to be loved and that I can be loved, am even worthy of it, flaws and all.

The past few years, my self-esteem took a huge hit, unconsciously replacing self-love with self-loathing. During that time, I’d forgotten this…I’d forgotten what it was like to believe in yourself, to love yourself as others love you. I’d forgotten what it felt like to live every single day brimming with passion, discovering beauty, and believing in something so strong.

And now, I remember. These past few months, I’ve begun to find that again on my own, and while I haven’t fallen in love since, I’ve learned to love myself, I’ve learned that I am capable of something special, and I’ve learned that I will love and be loved in return.

This time, it will be that much stronger, ever more cherished, and ever more true.

This time it will be different and beautiful.

Because this time, I’m beautifully different.

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