From Vocabulary.com- the definition of succor:
In archaic times, succor meant a reinforcement of troops during a hard battle. These days though, those reinforcements are a bit more figurative. Succor is a helping hand in a time of need, relief when the going gets tough. Succor can also be used as a verb, as in, “After Bob fell overboard, he was saved — succored by a life preserver.”
What about reinforcement of troops inside oneself? Relief when the going gets tough? Because that is when I turn upon myself the most, looking for Mother’s love that never comes. Why do I hear compliments yet do not take them in, or even hear them? Words flying past me, almost hearing them, but away they fly.
My friend emails me back after sharing my photos with her, “Your pictures do good things to my soul!”
And though I thank her, she responds with, “Seriously; I mean it!”
And even that feels like a criticism. I didn’t thank her right?
But as I wake this morning I remember Cory saying last night on the phone from Boston, “I like the mirrors in your Mother Earth Butterfly. You can look at it and see yourself.”
I said, “Oh yeah. I love the mirrors too.”
Yet wonder what he meant as the conversation moved right on.
I lie in bed this morning as grey light softened outside the window. It occurred to me that he meant, you are Mother Earth. So fitting on Mother’s Day, yet I didn’t take it in, feel it, or own it.
Just like my friend who said my photos lift her soul. I attribute her comment as just showing kindness, not that my photos truly touched her. Not that I REALLY have something to offer the world, or am of value. That I could touch someone’s soul? My barriers have trouble being open and vulnerable. How could they not? I don’t ask why, but how could they not be kept tightly closed?
I do not allow softness, warmth, or closeness in. Even with those that I love deeply. It’s typically a thought that I love them. The feelings are too dangerous, making me exposed like a puppy showing its belly. I instinctively don’t do that.
Young children such as Cindy, my grand-daughter, touch me deeply and easily. So does my cat, Molly, even nature, and blogging comments hit home sometimes bringing tears because of the deep connection I never found anywhere else except in therapy. And occasionally a remark face to face can zero in penetrating my armor. But not much, and not often.
One has to learn to balance being open yet having boundaries, something others take for granted. I know how to be one or the other, but not both at the same time. And I sure didn’t learn how to nurture the self-love I was born with, bashed into nothingness by the first attack without intervention, love or further protection.
It is not hard to figure out why I have trouble taking in love and warmth, yet yearn for it. Or why it is hard to ignite the loving ember lying deep within. It is there. It just needs succoring; soft whispers of breath warming it to life and a sustaining glow, an eternal flame that can bring light, warmth and hope in times of trouble.