The Exquisite Pain of an Unconditional Gift

Embers from Past Flame Consume Again—and Again.

Author’s Note:

The original draft for this piece was titled “Fire and Scar.” I found it in a collection of never-published-posts on my Reddit account. This was from 2022.

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There is a full acceptance given with true, unconditional love. And that in itself is a gift that is difficult to accept, tricky to reciprocate, and—to someone unfamiliar with the experience of reciprocal, non-transactional care—feels a bit like a trap.

Or, at the very least, like you will be asked to return-to-sender as soon as the giver comes to their senses and realizes they didn’t actually mean to give it to you.

But even if they don’t, it’s not easy to claim such a gift as “yours” when your hands are still raw from how often these types of gifts from your past turned to flame in your palms.

That burned flesh hasn’t been able to hold a gift of this kind for very long. Not since the first fire. Not without considerable pain.

The layering of scars left from each burn which followed that first all stopped you from holding any gift at all, period. For years, your body simple refused out of self-preservation.

But the longer the time between burns the better you do—whenever you finally dare to keep hold of one. But truly, that decision in and of itself is a hurdle to overcome; an exercise in discomfort.

You push past it by reminding yourself that it isn’t like you are reaching into fire.

You hold it. Numb from your scars. So numb that the only sensation you get at first is simply the weight of it. But it is there — solid, real, unlit, and unchanging.

And you begin to trust it.

Soon—too soon, really—despite your desire to hold it close, despite your deep desperation to refute the urge to step away from its reminder of what you once thought could only ever be someone else’s belonging, someone else’s acceptance to hold, your scars begin to ache.

You begin to tremble.

There is no flame, but your hands begin to burn.

You set the gift down with remorse.

You stare through your tears at it, this thing you so wish you could grasp.

But, little by little, you try again. And it continues to claim only you as its owner.

No matter how many times you need to set it down.

It stands near you through the pain. Solid and steady for when you can pick it up again.

Somehow, you begin to believe it.

Your stamina for fighting this doubt increases,

the length of your hold increases,

and the numbness dissipates just often enough to keep you holding on.

On good days you can feel the cool lifting hug of the gift pressing against your fingers and palms; slowly absorbing each layer of numb protection.

Each removal is both unbearable and promising. With it comes days of not being able to hold the gift, moments you despise the gift for the pain it brings you, the fire it makes you relive, but still, you sit with it — waiting for the signs of life still hiding in your bones to tell you it is time to heal further. At times you wish to grasp it and hold on to it for good, no matter the pain. Let it rip the scars from your hands with no reprieve. All of them, at once, no matter the cost.

But you aren’t the only one who suffers from the gifts healing.

The scars still hold flame, and the gift passes that flame to the giver with each embrace. A small but searing torture to those without scars and left unbridled would soon engulf the both of you until the gift itself turns to ash at your own hands.

So you are patient.

You continue to pick the gift back up, practice believing it is yours, push yourself to hold it longer each time, heal a bit more, and hope that one day, when the scars have worn supple, you will one day be able to feel the enveloping certainty that it is yours to keep.