I take my sensitivity for granted.
Certain times of the month (read: PMS!) are more difficult for me than others. At those times, I become raw. I curl like a flower at night, protecting the stamen from the cold. My petals turn brown if they are touched.
At those times, tears come quickly. Simple and quiet things can move me, like a singing bowl rung at the beginning of a Sunday church service. Or one too many things on my schedule. The events of the past 2 weeks. Hearing the grief that seems to be coming with this season for many others, not just me.
I have decided I want to learn a new way. I want to celebrate these times where my heart feels raw and rubbed with salt. Many times, I go down the path to where ALL THE FEELS are torturing me to the verge of breakdown. That’s okay. Actually, it’s beautiful, even. Because that’s when my heart is calling a checkmate on my egoic mind. I have the chance to be exceedingly compassionate to my small, frail self.
No more taking this for granted. No more doing, doing, doing. No more perfecting myself into a tiny box and trying to be everything to everyone.
Instead, I can approach my darling little self with tender compassion. I sit at the stoplight and instead of reaching for my phone, I can reach for silence. “Hello, my little darling.”
Like the verse in the Bible that concludes 1 Corinthians 12 in preparation for the well-known words on love:
“And yet I will show you the most excellent way.”