Sometimes I think I'm making progress, or what I would call progress. I see a place in my life that I think I need to/ought to/should be, and try to get there. I know all about how the journey is equally important as the destination, and some would say more so.
But still. It has been hard for me to value my wanderings in the wilderness. Why can't I just get "there" and finally be "done?"
Those are the frustrations--the chorus of nasty voices that swirls around the edges of my thoughts at times.
But. [And this is a BIG but!!!!] I'm finally seeing evidence of true growth. Of groping in the dark, zigzagging through the wartorn pieces of my life, enduring self-inflicted wounding and STILL coming out of it loving myself and my babystumble from an old life into a new.
All these pictures? Evidence of the day-old Valentine's candy I bought for myself yesterday. And ate. The chocolate that kept me from sleeping. I knew when I ate it that I might be sabotaging sleep. But the tender ache, the still healing wounds from unrequited love, called out for something sweet. So I fed myself chocolate.
When I couldn't sleep in the dark of night, I got up and read a book. Went back to bed just before 4am and managed to sleep, on and off, until almost noon. Got up and showered. Went to my line dance class, groggy, grainy in my soul, a little wobbly in my dancing feet. But gentle. Oh-so-gentle with my emerging self.
Right now, I am doing the best I can. I am moving from darkness into light. Yes, I wobble. Sometimes I fall. Hard.
But I'm learning to hug myself. Maybe lie down with my self, and rest, until we can get to our feet again. More hugs. Wipe away tears. Blow snotty nose. Turn face to the sun and start again, one tiny, unsteady step at a time, into the light.
