a little higher on the trail

This is a follow-up to the new frontier post earlier this month.

I don't know if you'd call it work in the traditional sense, but I've been doing some metaphorical lifting and organizing on the 'big pile of miscellaneous ick covered in heavy fog' that sent me to the therapist in the first place. Then we started on small steps first. Once I get these on the near-automatic, I think the ways of a good life are going to come back full force. Then the heavy lifting will come in, but I don't worry about that the same way. Or maybe it's not time to worry about it yet.

Mainly I've been worried I'd lost my backbone. The big bad Ann T. who could live in RiverTown and make a difference and/or access her luck just seemed totally lost. She still winks in and out, but the fog is lifting more often and the little pieces, as I said, are getting organized. Actions that looked like unacceptable, limping compromises now look like solutions. That's not settling for second best; it's the new wind from the mountain top clearing my field of vision.

Nobody can work through this miasma except me, but as an extrovert I have needed to make it somewhat public so that I could examine it better. My therapist is of course trying to cheer me on, but I believe her when she says, 'See, see! We've only been doing this for a month, and just look."

I took her pictures of my husband and all my dead like the fourth visit. Something so simple: just to make them real and valued for fifty minutes. That was a true restoration. We are I guess eight or ten visits in.

So there's a way up, and I thank you very much for the fresh air and light that's made it through the grey. In case you are worried, absolutely you need not; you have propped me up already and restored much of my confidence. I am also very grateful for your well-wishes and prayers.