They Didn't Choose Me, and That's Okay

The explanation seemed reasonable. 
Until it didn't. 

My heart formed the real and radically honest confession. 
They didn't choose me. 
They could have. It would have made sense. But they didn't. 

A long-embraced intention felt torn from our grasp.

Anger and resentment feel less vulnerable than grief. They are wrong for not choosing me feels easier than "they didn't choose me, and I feel hurt". 

Sitting in the vulnerability of what it means that they didn't choose me could overwhelm me if I allow it to. 

More than the pain of being left behind, I am afraid of what it means. And those are the fears and thoughts I have to keep an eye on. 

Maybe they have a reason for not choosing me. Maybe I'm too awkward. Maybe I'm too fat. Maybe they just don't like me for some other reason. I don't know the reason. 

Even though it doesn't feel okay, it is okay for them to not choose me. 

They are not required to choose me. I don't know why they didn't choose me, and it probably isn't wise for me to spend a lot of time trying to figure it out. 

Ultimately, their reason is about them. And that's the truth that is hard to embrace. 

It's not my fault. It doesn't mean something is wrong with me. 

I'm not their people, and they aren't my people, and that's okay. 

I choose to bear the weight of grief. 

Anger, resentment, and shame are too heavy a load to bear.