Tell all

I've found myself waking up lost.  As if my voice has been silenced or I've forgotten how to walk.


I stopped writing chrysalisbreak about 2-3 months ago.
I did it because I wanted a rest.  I didn't want this thing which started out so life-affirming to be one more chore on the list of things I must do to maintain functional-adult-status.
But now I am missing it.  I miss my fingers dancing on keyboard like a seasoned pianist.
I miss the tiny clicking into place when I tell myself the truth by accident.
I miss the deep sighs I breath only when I am alone here with my coffee.  It is the air which goes to my core and lets me know everything is going to be alright, in spite of everything I've just admitted to.

Also, I've had things going on at home that I cannot share with the world.
So it seemed I couldn't write.  Because the truth I had to tell was too delicate, too fresh.
It is not only my story I tell here.  It is the story of my family.
I wish I could bare all.  I wish I could walk naked and let whatever jiggles be exposed.
However, I'm learning that sometimes love requires discretion.  I hate this. I hate that we are so fragile.
I wish we didn't need to hide behind identities constructed out of words and paper cut-out clothes.
But that is only upon initial response.
It is this sensitive nature which makes it all worth it.  I need the parts that make no sense, that ache for no reason other than I want to be heard, understood.  I want my face to be caressed when I cry, and I offer the same to those in my care.
I do not want my husband to be his calloused hands.  Sometimes I wonder how he can feel my skin through all that work.  But he does.  He kisses the top of my forehead as we fall asleep together, curled into the formation we've perfected over 7 years.
I want to honor that.  I want to preserve a space for us to be soft.  This means respecting his trust.  This means I do not tell all.

soft spot