No Harm In Feeling

“You’re not in harm by feeling.” The wise words of Charlotte over brunch the other morning.

Something I’ve realized about myself is that I tend to live in a world of extremes. I don’t know if I’ve ever truly had a mediocre experience—funny as that may sound.

Everything is either extremely joyous, surreal, and dreamlike… or entirely chaotic and difficult.

For the past few months, I’ve been living in a paradigm of insurmountable joy. It’s felt like everything I ever wanted—everything I once only dreamed of—has been flowing into my life effortlessly.

So naturally, my expectations—for myself, for others, for life—have risen.

But no matter how long you ride a wave, it always crashes.

And maybe “crash” isn’t even the right word. It’s not that anything went wrong—it’s just that things shifted.

The last week or so has felt less easeful. A little more grounded. Less like a fairytale, and more like life.

The tide changed.

When Samantha came to visit me in Barcelona, I expected her arrival to feel like even more magic, more serendipity, more joy layered on top of my already overflowing world.

But I forgot one beautiful fact about life: it ebbs and flows.

She didn’t need the most picture-perfect, unforgettable visit. She just needed her girl.

She didn’t need me to fix her current struggles.

She just needed me to meet her in them.

But wrapped up in my own light, I failed to walk with her in the dark. I tried to beam sunshine into her shadows, instead of standing beside her and saying, “It’s okay here too.”

That same lesson started bleeding into my relationship with Mr. International.

My friends laughed when I told them we’d had our first “energetic misalignment.” But the truth is, Mr. International and I have more barriers between us than bridges.

We didn’t speak the same language when we met.

We’re from entirely different parts of the world.

He defended his country; I’ve spent my life being protected.

It’s a trope, really: the ballerina and the fighter.

We come from different places—and we’re in different places in life.

I tend to trust easily, sometimes to a fault. I believe in the good in people.

He sees the world with sharper edges.

And slowly, this contrast began to show.

One of the things I love most about myself—something I’ve fought to reclaim in past relationships—is my independence. My ability to take care of myself.

I started to notice that he, by nature, wanted to protect. To take over that role.

And while he fights for a living, I don’t need him to fight for my life too.

When these uncomfortable realities started to become jokes with a side of truth, we decided to talk.

And, despite all, we found a beautiful moment of bridging all our differences.

He told me he was scared—because to him, I am perfect.

I told him I don’t like that word. With this term, I do recognize the expectations as too high.

But he said he’s searched for darkness in me, and all he sees is light. “Perfect” is the only word that fits.

Then he asked me if I can love all of him.

Even if his light has a circle of darkness inside.

So my answer?

Pfff. As if I didn’t know what I was signing up for when I learned his Portuguese name signifies yang.

Later, when I shared these two grounding moments with Miranda, she gave me advice I’m still turning over in my heart: Leave room for your second emotions.

She told me that in love—especially the deepest kinds—it can be hard to open up to someone like me who always leads with light.

Even though I face my own challenges, what I tend to portray to the world is only the joy. The solution. The after.

I rarely pause to sit in the messy middle.

I’ve realized I do this because I want to help others fast-track to the light. I want them to see there is an end to the tunnel.

But maybe in skipping the discomfort, I’m also skipping connection.

Because to bypass the darkness is to bypass what makes the light so powerful.

Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is not try to fix someone’s pain, but to feel it with them. To make the darkness louder, stronger, more bearable in company—so that when the light returns, it has no choice but to shine even brighter.

So yes, Charlotte, I guess there really is no harm in feeling.