My friend observed this morning that perhaps I had a problem with God as Father because of my difficulties with my own father. My gut reaction is “NO” – but for argument’s sake, I’ll say “Maybe – in part.” Having gone that far, it doesn’t seem to change anything. For whatever reason I internalized the idea that the female side of myself is less than any “masculine” parts, it’s still a wound that has to be opened and healed.
After years of counselling, I’m seeing that this road I must travel either with companionship or alone. It must be walked. No companion, or guide required. Greatly appreciated, but not required.
If there is anger (and I’m not feeling anger at this time) then I must step back from it and see what it tells me. Same with sorrow. Same with shame. And – at times, with joy. I was smiling down to my toes this morning after hearing the belly-dancer story. What does that tell me?