as slow as molasses in january

Several recent events, some recorded here, some not, some obvious, some not, have served to tenderize my heart. At times, I've felt like my heart was in shreds; other times, it's felt wide open and receptive; sometimes, I've felt both at once. It's been a painful time, but also a hopeful time, one in which I can perceive healing ahead.

I've felt my connection with a few people deepening, including a few I'm already close to or have been close to in the past. As I say, my heart is wide open and ready, making it possible to relate more tenderly and kindly than I might ordinarily be capable of.

At the same time, I'm noticing movement deep within. You know that stuff you're supposed to be frightened of that develops inside your water heater? I feel like there's a layer of it inside of me -- old grief, shame, sadness, disappointment. It's well-settled and I've probably built up protective barriers around it, further ensuring its longevity.

I live with it always and usually don't notice it. It is only when it starts to move -- oh so achingly slowly -- that I realize it's there. My mother used to call me "slow as molasses in january" and perhaps I am. But at least I am in motion, making tiny amounts of progress.

I am grateful for the healing that's come and the healing that is to come. I am grateful for my friends who choose to stick with me through thick and thin. I am grateful for the love I am able to give and the love I am able to receive.