According to my dodgy logic, someone can hate “me”.
But if they try to love me, I wriggle around with questions as to how do they really know “me”? I hardly know myself. And I have to get books and heal wounds.
I have been working on allowing myself to be loved. Opening up to the idea of trusting it. Surrender. It follows that equally, I have to allow myself to be hated.
I can’t expect to be loved as a mysterious and curious being, and allow that, without accepting that people can also hate me for some mysterious and curious being that they perceive. I can be hated and that’s ok.
The path to love, for me, lies just as much in hatred as it does in adoration.
I really like that it turns out that way.