Day 13 – tender spots and subconscious bandages

Day 13 … it feels strange typing that Day X in the Title bar.  I have turned things around – writing this in the morning, instead of late in the afternoon or evening as I started.  Day 13 is just starting, after all, so really all I can write about is how day 12 went.

Day 12 went swimmingly.  I had a good long talk with Mr. Aveline last night.  I let all the thoughts that had percolated during the day out.  He listened, reassured me, held me when I cried.

Yeah, I cried … but they were good tears – break-through tears – stress-relief tears.  They were not sad or frustrated or angry tears.  I hate crying.  *laugh*  I am not a pretty crier.  Plus, crying offends the control freak in me, I am pretty sure.  Given all that – I think that sometimes Mr. Aveline is relieved when he gets to hold me through the kind of crying I did last night.  (It means maybe I will stop being such a crazy bitch for a while! *wink*)

Anyhow – the tears were a result of a couple of minor epiphanies.  The first being that tomorrow is Father’s Day.  The second being that – quite literally – the last time I did these specific motions (meditate-stretch-walk regime) was during The Worst Period of my post-twenties adult life.   Both are tender spots on my soul, for different reasons.

Father’s Day – I’m afraid that Mr. Aveline has gotten the short-end of the stick with this one. My father died over the Father’s Day weekend when I was eighteen years old.  It was (and still is) the worst thing that ever happened “to me”.  Every year around this time I go a little crazy.  I get moody and sad and itchy.  It helps when I acknowledge the time of year.  It gives me a framework for the emotions that inevitably surge to the surface and then I know how to cope with them.  When it sneaks up on me, as it did this year – the feelings still come – my subconscious never forgets –  they blindside my conscious self.

The other thing … well, I don’t really want to get into it now … but much like the father’s day thing – I think I was poking at the bruises, picking at the scabs, without thinking about what I was doing and my psyche started wrapping me in emotional batting trying to cushion me and protect the owie spots.  Now that I have realized what is happening I can trim my fingernails, stop picking and use a properly sized bandage instead of mummifying myself.

So – up at 7 am on a Saturday – again – while everyone else is still sleeping and the house is quiet … to stretch and meditate and vomit some words into my blog.  The boys have agreed to go on an outing to the park with me today to take some photo’s for an art project I am working on.  I promised them ice-cream at our favorite shop when we are through.

“Time doesn’t. All that Time does is make it more distant, put more space between you and what happened. It doesn’t heal anything. I don’t know how or what does the healing, but it isn’t Time.” –  Mercedes Lackey

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”
― Rumi


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