purpose

[pur-puh s]

noun

1. the reason for which something exists or is done, made, used, etc.

2. an intended or desired result; end; aim; goal.

3. determination; resoluteness.

4. the subject in hand; the point at issue.

5. practical result, effect, or advantage:
to act to good purpose.

verb (used with object), purposed, purposing.

6. to set as an aim, intention, or goal for oneself.

7. to intend; design.

8. to resolve (to do something):
He purposed to change his way of life radically.

verb (used without object), purposed, purposing.

9. to have a purpose.

Idioms

10. on purpose, by design; intentionally:
How could you do such a thing on purpose?

11. to the purpose, relevant; to the point:
Her objections were not to the purpose.

Source: Dictionary.com

 

Purpose.

If you know me at all, or you’ve read my book (Sexual Biversity, loving my bisexual husband), you’d know I spent majority of my years asking the big ones, “what’s my purpose”? “Why am I here”?

What’s my purpose, why am I here?

Back in about, hmm, the early 2000’s, 2001, 2002, when for some peculiarly random reason my brain chatter was temporarily and unusually suspended – quiet – I received an answer.

My purpose, was to publicly share the intimate details of how I live my life with my bisexual husband. Whilst being able to assist those in a similar situation (especially the straight partners of), as to how it is possible to forgive, trust, love (unconditionally) and create the life you would like to live, with said bisexual man, if you both so do willingly choose.

Not that in that moment of clarity, I knew the full extent of what my purpose was to be then.

What I did know from that moment of clarity, was there was no way I was ever going to do that and was mortally horrified after spending decades of my precious time asking, demanding to know what my purpose was, that crap, was what I received. Considering too, at the time, I was still in a delicate place within my relationship with Andrew (my husband), as I hadn’t reached any of the above mentioned, forgiveness, trust, love nor created the relationship with him I could willingly choose to have. I was still bloody hurt, angry, bitter, feeling devastatingly betrayed, confused etcetera, etcetera.

What was the Universe thinking sending me such diatribe (rotten, stinky rubbish)?

To cut a long story short and since I’ve already proclaimed to writing this book in my opening sentence. I did (eventually) accept this as being my purpose, the reason I was here.

Having no regrets in doing so and perhaps had I not believed so intently to this being my true purpose, I may not have ever written Sexual Biversity and be of the service I am today.

For the record.

This was not my purpose.

Had I not done as such, nor believed as such or experienced such severe ill health over the years, extreme depression, bipolar, anxiety, fatigue, PTSD, obesity, ugly duckling syndrome, little to no self worth, tried to kill myself, engaged in an extra-ordinary life with my bisexual identifying husband and so forth, I may not have ever realised what my purpose actually was.

My purpose is…

To love and embrace myself exactly as I am, unconditionally, without question or reserve, never to doubt my worth or being enough ever again.

That there, that’s my purpose.

My true North.

Whatever else I choose to do with my life is not my purpose.

It could be my mission perhaps?

It’s definitely not my purpose.

It’s not just my purpose either.

It is my belief, as I sit with it today, this is everyone’s purpose.

Imagine what the world we live in would be like, if we all lived on purpose, loving ourselves, one hundred percent, completely, unconditionally, forever and always.

How the people of the world could heal.

How the planet could heal.

The difference we could make in life then.

What a legacy to leave behind.

Mmm.

Purpose.

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