My greatest fear is that I am unlovable.
My greatest fear is that I will tell someone everything that I have ever done and they will be unable to love me.
My greatest fear is shame.
Shame: the sloped shoulders. Shame: the inability to make eye contact. Shame: the agony of bad decisions, wrong thoughts, cruel intentions that are fighting to break out of the innermost depths of your soul and in to the light. Shame: the lie that is told to hide the truth.
My greatest hope is that one day before my shame consumes me, I will meet a person that I can be entirely honest with, who loves me in spite of it all. I am not confident that such a person exists and may have to reside myself to the probability that it is only God who has enough supernatural strength to know and love every part of me. But I still hope; I long; I pine; I perish.
“Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then, with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.”― George Eliot (aka Mary Ann Evans – a woman who knew a thing or two about the longing for acceptance.)