It’s been harder to write.  To Move.  I feel like hiding…in sleep.

It’s harder to be present.  To hear the birdsong and feel my breath.

And when my husband called on my way into work yesterday, to tell me how good I am and how loved I am – I cried.  Because being seen – all the way through – hurts a little.

I have always preferred to prove that I am deserving of such devotion.  To win.  Earn.  Fight, if need be.  So, I recognize being loved with such abandon – even when all my marks feel missed, lost, or (worse) silly to strive for – as a miracle.

A miracle that I can feel and honor in my relationships with others, but one that I am still working on with Self.

Fortunately, She is patient and full of forgiveness.