Reintegrating -- Part 2

Three essential parts were returned to me on the day of my soul retrieval.  I've discussed the little girl part here.

The second part of myself that came back to me on that day was a young woman, aged about 24 or 25 years.  She is the part of me that left when, as a young mother, I decided to remain in my marriage because I believed I needed to do that in order to be able to care for my two small children.  She was the strong, adventurous, lively "me" who was possessed of a wicked sense of humor and a rich appreciation for life's ironies.  She knew who she was, and she knew what she wanted from life.  She dreamed dreams.  She yearned for a powerful and intimate partnership; for a love that would carry her through whatever life might bring...  And, she knew what I would not acknowledge -- that the man I'd married would never be capable of being a full participant in that partnership.  When I would lie awake in the depths of the night, and imagine what my life might be if I would take my babies and strike out on my own, she it was who urged me on to grab the possibilities with all my heart.  When, out of fear and a lack of belief in my own power, I chose to stay in that dead, stultifying, pitiful excuse for a marriage, she gathered her power and her courage and her bright spirit -- and she left me behind to endure the disappointments and the diminishments.

Now she is back, once again a part of who I am.  She is funny, and a bit naughty, and absolutely fearless.  She lives life fully, and she tells the truth.  She rejects the mealy mouthed prissiness that I can sometimes fall into.  She speaks plainly, knowing what she wants.  She is practical and mature enough to know that dreams don't always work out, but she absolutely will not stand for not trying.  She demands that I try -- at the very least.  Try.

If you want to know the truth, she scares me.  When she first came back to me; when I first talked with her; when I asked her what I could do to make her welcome, and keep her with me; she suggested, with a twinkle, that we might try skydiving.  Eeek!  The shaman assures me that some of this is "metaphorical," but I am not at all sure that I feel better about metaphorical skydiving than I do about the physical potential for jumping out of an airplane.  Really!

But, then, I worry ...  What if she were to leave me again?  What if she were to grow weary of my caution and my timid approach?  What if she offers me the gifts of courage and adventurousness and curiosity and daring, and I cannot find my way to accept them and use them?  I want her here.  I don't want to lose  her.  I am feeling my way along with all of this, needing time and patience and, maybe, a fair portion of luck?

swan