I was totally warned by my therapist that this recovery process is not linear. More like a dance that takes you all across the floor in whirling patterns.
Beautiful, right? Have I mentioned that I have OCD? LOL!
Luckily, I'm also a dancer. Or was. Or still am. That's one of the definitions of self that I'm still hammering out. ANYWAY...I get it. The metaphor, that is.
And in weeks like this, it really helps to keep reminding myself of that visual.
Dance isn't always pretty and smooth and graceful. Sometimes it's in your face, raw, methodical, gritty, gut-wrenching, sweaty, off beat, whirling dervish. Sometimes it inhabits your body in an uncomfortable way and you need to work and work and work to make it feel comfortable in your skin. Sometimes it jumps in right away, takes control and leaves you breathless with that feeling of success and inspiration.
What dance always is - or at least should be - is passionate and personal. Much like this journey I'm on. I need to keep reminding myself that, like dance, this journey takes determination, practice and commitment. Sometimes I'll fall trying to get it just right. Sometimes I'll soar on the first try. But neither is more important that each other until the whole dance is learned and complete.
At that point in my dance, my highest wish is to be grace-FULL. And the rest can fall into the dance where it may.