somewhere deep within me, tears came sputtering out. i reached for her box of tissues, next to her notepad and silent clock that ticked away the hour i had. "i don't know why i'm crying," i sniffled and she nodded with that all-knowing smile.
somehow she managed to gently work her way into my heart, emotions, psyche. the place where i generally avoid. then she began pulling those things out, essentially nudging me to take a look at my heart in its gnarled, busting at the seams with weed roots, bruised and in some places, hard and calloused condition. i feel like tucking it back under my arm or casually denying its ownership.
instead we discuss. pray. ponder. and she verbally gently wraps it again in gauze, and i gently place it back in my core. then the thinking begins. the walk back from my weekly counseling session forces me to pull up my britches and acknowledge that maybe i don't have this all figured out like i hoped i would.
because didn't we all dream of different things when we were little? i know for myself, i imagined a far more glamorous, in-control, money-makin', sexy-man totin' woman at 26. not this sniveling, plump, single mom, how-the-heck-did-i-get-here girl.
the laundry is tossing in the dryer. the dishwasher is loaded. baby clothes folded. diapers treated. new book is waiting bedside. and i'm grappling with the silence once again. my heart is aching a bit, like a stubbed toe ... a brief wince of pain in the middle of normal routine. a little reminder from this afternoon that it's time to heal. and sometimes healing requires this...