My trust has been shattered, throughout my whole life, the distant past and most recently. It’s been shattered by the people who swore I could trust them, who promised repeatedly it would never happen again. It’s been shattered by life itself, by luck, by fate. And at my most vulnerable, my lowest, most desolate point… I trusted again. I have always wanted to believe in love, but this love shakes me until my teeth rattle. It swears it is true, it begs for me on its knees… then dumps me below the waves when I gather the courage to reach for it once more.
I thought I had put it all behind me. I had found peace, which is different than love. In fact, I found peace because love was not part of the equation. I was present. I was strong. When I saw drama, when I heard lies, when I met with insanity, I turned the other way. I basked in the joy of my strength. My strength was my baby, and as she grew, so did my resolve. I did not have to participate in these mind games. I did not have to wonder if I was right or wrong. If someone else was using me. If I was crazy or if they were. I had confidence. It was just me and my daughter, my mother, my grandmother. My tribe. The people who wanted me unconditionally, who welcomed me at all times, wherever they are. My family.
I cannot find my peace now. In truth, I have a broken heart on top of a broken heart. Eckhart Tolle is on repeat in my car, and sometimes I can almost, barely but almost, feel the lightness of being. Once in a while I can glimpse at a shadow of my own presence. I can be The Watcher, the Guardian of My Own Inner Space.
I have failed, so terribly, at guarding my inner space since my daughter’s birth. I loved recklessly, I had no boundaries, I didn’t stick to my own limits. I believed in something, and someone, again, and it has let me down, again. I feel like a cripple on the valley floor, having fallen from the cliffs. I cannot get up. I can hear the wind and the ravens cawing overhead. I can feel the grit of dirt and the sting of snow under my face and between my lips. I can almost, almost be completely present, and observe this great pain. I can almost watch it approach and recede like the tides, rather than swimming in its depths.
Why have I been left alone? Why has love betrayed me? Why is there nothing to believe in?
Mother of All Things 
This is poetry. Your pain is in the process of being transformed into the music of words. A high art.
I’m so so sorry. Nothing I can say will make it stop hurting but please know I’m thinking of you and your daughter. Sending hugs and love your way.