“I don’t want to act out of my abandonment wound,” my friend told me when I asked her why she did not express her need for more communication with her boyfriend when they were not spending time together.

I have a strong abandonment wound. My mother died when I was eighteen. Then my father abandoned me for his new family. Many men I strongly connected with throughout my thirties stopped calling after a few weeks of dating.

At age forty, abandonment felt like it was chasing me around.

This was when I met my husband. After our first week together, we discussed what would come out of our relationship, as I was planning to live in California, and he lived in New York.

My husband confessed that he was not great at maintaining long-distance communication. “Well, if you want to be with me, you’ll have to be good at it,” I told him with my Jewish hutzpah. “I need you to show me you are interested,” I explained. “If you don’t, I will be triggered by my abandonment wound and leave you.”

It’s not the first time I’ve written about this moment when I was crystal clear about what I needed from my man. This moment set my relationship with my husband up for success, turning our love into a real-life, long-term fairy tale.

But talking with my friend, I realized there was more to this story than straightforwardness and honesty. The magnitude of this moment lies in the fact that this was the first time I did not try not to act out of my wound. On the contrary, I embraced my wound as a part of me.

I knew I could not escape it. I could try to be cool and pretend I was okay when he did not call me for days, but I was tired of this game. This time, I wanted this man to see me for exactly who I was, and that included my abandonment wound.

I hate to bring Mel Gibson here because of his widely expressed antisemitic opinions, but I was reminded of the scene in Lethal Weapon 3, where he and Rene Russo show each other their scars and brag about them. Today, I carry my wounds with pride, too. I see them as proof of my vast life experience. I never let my wounds close me or stop me from trying to find love, friendships, success, or any other life improvement. And I never try to hide, dismiss, or act like I don’t really have them. 

Expecting ourselves not to act out of our wounds is like asking ourselves not to act out of our personality – our wounds are a part of our ever-evolving personality. We can’t say – my personality is only composed of the good things that happened to me. No! Our personalities are also made out of our wounds. And this is what self-love means – to love all the parts of yourself, wounds and all. 

The underlying message I gave my husband on that day was that I loved my wounds and that he should love them too. My husband’s efforts to accommodate my needs and soothe my fear of abandonment created depth and intimacy right from the start. By respecting my wish, he showed me he cared for me deeply, not despite my wound but thanks to it.

When we try to avoid acting out of our wounds, we often fake ourselves. We pretend to be okay with things that hurt us. We assume that we are only hurt because of our wounds, but who knows? We could still be hurt even if we were woundless, not that such a thing even exists. 

It’s much better to love our wounds as an integral part of ourselves. This means accepting that certain behaviors hurt us or frighten us because of our wounds. Instead of trying to pretend we aren’t wounded and allowing situations that cause us pain, we should be open about our wounds and our needs from our loved ones. We should allow our loved ones to show us they really care by tending to our wounds. 

On this Scorpio Full Moon, we try to bring simplicity (Taurus) into our psychological wounding and complexity (Scorpio). What’s simpler than accepting our wounds as a part of us and stopping to pretend we are someone else who does not have these wounds? Try it out and claim your success story. 

What do you think? I’d love to hear from you.

Have a wonderful week and a happy Full Moon,

With love,

Yael