I’d begun to make this post when my screen suddenly asked if I wanted to navigate away from it and when I clicked “cancel” it took me back to the page I’d just visited. So I’m here, in crappy ole Word, bitching silently about the unchangeable…
Why is it that when I write with honesty and then try to recreate it, I simply cannot do it? I know part of my resistance is because I am a stubborn mule, bitterly kicking my way through tasks if they don’t go as planned.
Breathing now. I was meant to make a different point, perhaps.
I wanted to tell you about loss and how when someone I love experiences it, how helpless I feel to comfort them. I wanted to tell you that my choice to be a bodyworker was born of wanting to help people nurse their pain. I wanted to tell you that I get confused and self conscious about how my well-meaning gestures will be received, if they are enough or too much. I wanted to comfort you and tell you that whatever you are going through, you will be able to heal. But that sometimes I don’t believe my own words. Maybe because I have unhealed wounds of my own.
I just wanted to tell you all of that.