Yielding to my desperate need to be touched by human hands, I scheduled a last-minute massage this evening. The tiny young girl packed a punch with her deep-pressure moves, and I confess I cried a couple of times. But my shoulders feel looser, and I’m inhaling the smell of stress-relieving essential oils every time I take a breath.
I’m stressed out, and I so want to be held by strong arms while I breathe the upset away.
I’m being cared for in other ways which really do perk me up and bring a smile to my heart, but can anything really substitute for touch? Words and looks can tide me over for a while. A loving thought expressed can feel like an embrace. A smoldering stare can feel like foreplay. Now I just need to find something that feels like sex. A hard workout?
I realize clearly that I’m scared. I’m in the Fear, which of course is preventing me from feeling all of the Love. I hate that.
Actually, I’m more than afraid right now. I’m so terrified I can’t even let myself imagine the thing that’s scaring me. I can only let my thoughts dance around the perimeter until it exhausts me and sends me to bed in a funky funk.
Today I did 5 miles on the treadmill after a shoulder workout. I found myself fixated on the red STOP button on the machine in front of me. STOP being afraid. STOP deriving my value from others. STOP having a pity party. Don’t STOP pressing on toward the goal for the prize. STOP and breathe.
I’m really trying to get my groove back.
I think there’s one last part that needs a good rub tonight.