Frances Daughters

I always thought this should be a name of a book..... or a heavy metal rock band.

As luck would have it, the title of Frances Daughter's belongs to a couple of gals I know.

Three sisters actually......... myself being the youngest member of this group.

This band we formed has bonded at times out of necessity and survival in the early days

of Frances Daughter's conception. The oldest sister took the unpopular role of mother

in this trio. Again not out of desire..... simple necessity. A budding young lady in her right,

the eldest knew to tow the line with this unruly crew.

The middle gal in Frances Daughters'..... oh she was quite the tiger. Full of life and energy,

this little lady was a little rascal. Being the middle daughter, observer, she had her own way

of dealing with pesky people and problems. This middle child had thoughts and feelings and opinions...... that typically did not resonate with the heads of the house hold. She definitely had her own stamp, mark...... this little gal wasn't taking anyones guff! Oh no...... she saw things as they were.

Frances Daughter's had one more little gal yet in the litter, the youngest..... hmmmmmm.

This little gal was very shy and influenced by her big sisters. She at times was like a puppy dog, lost and in need of direction. Following the lead of the older two girls.

Her heart was perhaps not as toughened as Frances two older daughters.

They already learned the ropes. They were pros by an early age. Being one of Frances Daughter's required much meat tenderizer to the heart..... the youngest hadn't gotten this memo yet, she was too busy riding her bike around the neighborhood I suspect.

Daydreaming their lives away in the tiny bedroom the three of us shared. Sometimes rolling around in the lime green shag carpeting for what seemed an eternity....... Oh this trio, quite playful.

The younger and middle one, the headaches they would give the oldest.

Never lacking new and exciting adventures, they thought

borrowing the family station wagon in the middle of the night was always a brilliant idea.

Even more brilliant because neither sister had drivers licenses. Add some friends to the mix,

I feel the joy taking over as I write. We loaded up that contraption with teenage giggling,

bubble gum chewing teen angels, rolled that baby out the drive way........ but this time fate wasn't so kind to two of Frances Daughter's. Off in the distance as we had that wagon perched

and ready for business, the sounds of many police sirens were headed our way.

As if matters were not bad enough, it seemed as though a dozen cats had gathered around us.

That is a 14 year olds mind, maybe there were five..... but it felt like twelve. We had the usual omens.... this was a bad idea. The key would not fit in the lock of the car door. We were not having it, our midnight pleasure ride awaited us, and that was that.

Several of Temple City's finest Sheriffs surrounded our wagon, and out we went.

My mom heard the knock..... how my dad didn't I will never know. A couple of sheriffs came in,

and my middle sister wasn't having it! I was scared out of my mind, but middle sis was in for it.

One officer asked my mom if she wanted them to haul her off to jail over night. She was a mouthy one, they said something to that affect. I am chuckling as I write this, thinking about that cop wanting to haul off my sister to teach her a lesson. My mom said no...... but my poor older sister was the jailer for both of us.

I had big plans of Magic Mountain Theme Park the next day. Well, don't tell Frances' youngest daughter to red light that one and not expect drama. Definitely was going to do myself in if I couldn't go. Like I said , just a little drama. The mother tells the eldest to keep vigil..... and off to bed she goes. That's pretty much how it went. She handled things, we got used to it.

Good times for her. The smarty mouth one I believe needed some talking to. Oldest one was having good times that night.

Frances Daughter's bonded over the strangest things throughout the years. Fought like

rabid animals, taunting each other........ laughing and having our own humor that no one else would or could understand, for being Frances Daughter's. Feeling the aloneness and fear,

yet not identifying it's name....... being one of her children. Wanting safety and warmth, love.

Our humor got us through many a tough time, and also belittled true heartache.

Tough exterior we wore .... we all learned through humor, distancing ourself from emotions.....

people. There was no place for real tenderness being one of Frances Daughter's.

We are still Frances Daughter's, always will be. Time has passed, our hearts have softened.

The pain of having a mother who never knew.... or knows how to love will always

be part of the scars we bear. Fortunately we see those are her wounds, as we age.

Frances Daughter's have learned to reunite ...... to forgive. To understand it was never

ours, the heavy sack we carried all this time. The pain in Frances heart is something we will never know. To not know how to hold your child, to sooth their fears...... wipe away your daughters tears. I am Frances youngest daughter. My heart bled for so long, wondering why was I so unworthy of her love. I gave and gave and gave to my mother until I almost disappeared.

It appeared I did not make a dent. I release her to those above who know greater than me.

I surrender. I am merely her daughter. I know I will now meet her again in another form.

No longer can I hold on to this pain. I will always be Frances Daughter.

What Makes Me Laugh

Trying not to laugh always makes me laugh, without a doubt. Playing the laughing game with my family..... making faces and sounds, where you can't make a peep. That's when I lose it and roar.

Why is that funny. Sitting in a very quiet place , thinking of things I am not supposed to be thinking of..... I am hysterical. When I was young sitting in church, I had this odd fascination with shoulders. There was nothing else to do, so I would just stare at all the different backs and shoulders sitting, standing in front of me. Suits, dresses, too tight blouses bursting with sausage like flesh erupting into those shoulders. I don't know why this fascinated me.

Millicent Friendly and Mr. Green sitting in front of me, oh so proper. I always wondered what happened when they got home out of their Sunday finery....... and Millicent got the lime green jello out, Mr. Green put on his retiring robe. It is so ridiculous, but I would be so bored in church I would play these little games with myself. It all centered around their shoulders.

Their entire lives, and the lives of their children. Broad shoulders, sloping shoulders....

you name it. I am laughing now thinking what little it takes to amuse me. I realize I have part simpleton gene, but I am kinda diggin it now. The never getting past 7th grade humor has served me well in times of true boredom.

I can laugh when I think of stories of old in my mind over and over again.... replayed.

Childhood hijinx..... those were the best that I really belly laugh over. Inappropriate

laughter to this day makes me laugh the most. I agree, very immature, but it still gets me.

Not the kind at someone else's expense, just where you cannot control your emotions,

you know you are going to burst....... like I said, in a very quiet serious room.

But it's not serious for any reason, it just is. That's what makes it funnier, you have no idea why you are whispering in reverence in some weird room that is used normally for xerox machines.

Bathrooms are absolutely hysterical. Now if I had it my way, I would have a full blown Orchestra in every Public Restroom. Trying to act cool, and not make a sound, that is what is the funniest thing to me. According to sources...... being male, those rules don't matter.

What happens in Public Restrooms .... just happens. Not the same rules for the female species. Oh no, we try to act cool. That lightning and thunder out of the 3rd stall did not happen.

If we are lucky enough to be with a friend who gets the joke....... we look at each other and it begins. First a snicker, and it is over. We beat feet out of that bathroom sooooo fast to the

sounds of "What the hell was that?"

These things that are only human nature..... which we desperately try to cover up and pretend

aren't happening. I think that's why they make me laugh so hard. Having been a waitress in my early years, that really gave me an eyeful of pretending things aren't real! Or.... what made me laugh what was all too real. One time I had just taken an order from a table, and had to use the restroom. As I was doing my business, I hear,"And my mama wants an orange juice with....blah, blah, blah, too." All the while this young girls head is staring at me upside down.... underneath the bathroom stall. That was funny, not at the time, but it was one of those things in life that is so incredulous..... how could that have just happened?

Hmmm.... I sense a bathroom humor theme here. Probably because we are not supposed to talk about such things. The word such things makes me laugh! I guess I love to pick a part

words, thoughts, things. Remember, I was amused beyond imagination by peoples shoulders.

I still am. Things that make me laugh....... My family, watching their crinkly smiles turn into full blown 4th of July rockets of joy when something delights them. My friends telling stories they know are gonna get me every time, and then some. Ironies of life......

Doing something just a little sneaky like an innocent child...... a little Dennis The Mennacy,

and watching peoples reactions! The way my hubby words things, the way I try to word things correctly and it comes out the opposite. Really dry humor..... and of course, always 7th grade humor. That gets me every time.

My Blossoming Heart

How I held on so tight with the greatest fear. Horrified to let go...... just one more minute,

please. It would have been impossible for me to understand what I was bidding farewell to.

That only tightened my grip. Sobs ripped through my body at the thought of having to

release you. I knew in this form we were no good for each other. Control, manipulation,

fear...... ignorance. We had known each other our lifetimes, we knew it was time.

I breathed in one more deep, mournful breath. It was time to cut the cord. End all the pain we had caused one another. I closed my eyes and let those above me lead. The tears flowed.....

as I finally felt your pain. My chest hurt, knowing, feeling the anguish I had been a part of.

Blaming you for so long, not understanding or caring or listening. Those sad eyes told a story

of their own. I looked the other way. Your broken heart, crying desert sand. I did not recognize these tears, so foreign to me.

Only in the silence and absolution..... bowing my head, the shame came. Knowing I still

wanted to hurt your heart.... only moments before. I let my heart feel it finally, your sadness

and fear. I didn't know. I couldn't understand your wound that I kept poking. I am sorry with my heart, my soul. Forgive me one day if you will. I am better for knowing you. I grew as a child, into who I am today having your love. We tussled and tugged at each others hearts,

and delighted in one another's laughter. You taught me how to stand tall, even when it hurt.

Forgive me for not loving you how you needed it. If I could take back walking away......

and leaving you as I did, I would. I was so selfish in my youth.

I did not know what love was or how to love. I only knew how to run and follow the razzle dazzle.

My heart blossomed the moment I felt your pain.

My Voice

Learning to be comfortable, really comfortable in my own skin is an on going process.

The more I think I have something totally figured out, the web I have weaved becomes very tangled. It looked so simple at first, but I forget the intricate layers it took to make. I think the same thing can be said about my voice. I am learning to stretch... speak up. It's so easy when I

am angry or excited. Nothing can stop thunderous, foot stomping, gut rolling laughter.

That is so easy. When I need to really speak up than this little mouse voice comes out. Especially.....

when someone with an authoritarian figure tone, that pushes their weight around. A slight stutter or lisp tumbles out from where? How did that just happen, I was fine two minutes ago. I am just learning I can take a moment, collect my thoughts, still have my dignity.

I am realizing I have kept this giant rule book in my head, always made a joke about it. Hmmm.

It is always in my car I have my great eye openers. Today another hit me hard.

The would and should cousins, again..... who invited them back? My mind can get so

black and white when the absolute team takes over. Black and white can step in so quickly

when I am unsure of my footing. The rule book that once again I insist I am only kidding about

from my past, is so clearly center stage and in need of attention. My greatest teachers I would have to say are those authoritarian figure voices. A throw back from Catholic School Days.

The finger pointing hell and damnation is coming out of my pores and purging through

those I now come in contact with. That voice. Now allowing me the opportunity to

stand in the sunshine that was always mine. The voice so pure and true, mine too.

They were always mine, I just needed a reminder. I have needed a lot of reminders.

I really forgot. A lot of those voices have shaken my foundation. I did not realize they were here to teach me. To wake me up and shake the shame and doubt off. The tears were like a rain storm. They cleaned away the years of misunderstandings and cloudiness. This voice I have been given. I laugh so freely and joyously with. I have sobbed uncontrollable tears. I sing my favorite songs loud, with much passion and zest ..... I feel for the person who has to be in ear shot. This voice that professes my love so true to those I hold dear. The same voice that angers quickly.... regrets that anger.

My voice, my words, that can now say no. May still feel bad for that no, but I am loving myself enough to say it. I am learning my words, my heart, I have a right to say how I feel.

I no longer need to hide in the shadows. Everyone has thoughts, feelings.

There is more than enough room for all of us. Overflowing, brimming. It was just a silly childhood myth. We somehow needed to hold on tight. Someone might take what we had.

I used to believe that in the house I grew up in as a child. Now I believe there is so much... and

the playground is just packed with kids waiting to play. Especially this kid.

Wanting to run and kick the ball. Tell secrets and fly kites. Finger paint and dance.

Eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and ride bikes. I want to play. I want to use my voice. The same voice that was too shy to use in my youth. I want to scream from the roof tops,

chase the ice cream truck down the street, yelling stop as loud as I can.

Gratitude

I have so much to say to the people I love and need in my life. Gratitude is a word that pops into my head. I am so grateful for being loved. Really loved. All the way inside where I hide from the world for fear that if you knew the real me you would run so far and fast I would never see you again. Loved for the way I put a blanket on my hubby when he is sleeping on the couch,

and tuck him in. I want to make every moment of that tuck felt...... as I wrap him like a burrito.

The gratitude I have for him.... working so hard for my family every single day. The warmth that

comes from his voice as he wakes me up in the morning, calling out to me,"Reesy your coffee

is ready, just the way you like it, half decaf." I don't know why that makes me giddy after all these years, but it does. Knowing he is waiting for me every morning to wake up and play, before he goes to work. Knowing there will always be a Lifetime movie we have seen 13,ooo

times, and he says he doesn't remember it. There is something so comforting about the coffee and the Lifetime 13,000 time watched shows with him. Because it's him.

Let's not start with the nicknames he calls me. That's his favorite thing.

He loves calling me Reesy. It has grown on me. Because he's calling me it.

I love my Raym. I smile when I think of him. He makes me laugh. He fills my heart.

He loves me, even when I want to abandon ship on myself. He listens to me talk until the cows come home. Even and especially when it is bed time I am like a hyper active irritating kid who wants to play. Let's talk, world events, except that's not my thing. Blah, blah, blah, as he is trying to have gentle slumber. Raym, are you asleep? A playful toss and movement to irritate

just enough." I am now, but in a bit I'll be talking in tongues soon." That's his signal for, don't have a hissy fit when I pass out and you are in the middle of your version of War and Peace. Hmmmm? I love this man who tolerates me and my interesting ways. Has taught me to love the sides of me that I thought were unlovable.

He has helped me find redemption in myself. I have so much gratitude for those I love and hold so dear. Matt who is so kind and patient and so very funny. He makes me laugh.

Matt teaches me time and time again about family. When I stray and get single minded,

he brings the family together, always. His love feels so strong, solid, no torrential

floods or hurricanes could challenge it. His wisdom seems so far beyond his

age, he just is. I am so proud of him, my love for him, it is truly indescribable.

He has stolen my heart even when we bicker and have misunderstandings, Like the true Leo,

Jungle Cats that we are. We roar at each other a little, purr a bit, lick our wounds, and

act cool. Period. Usually one of us cracks and we start laughing. We can't bear being mad at each other. We are very close, can feel each others emotions so strongly. It's even funnier when we try to

act like nothing is wrong. Oh, mercy! I love this boy so much, he makes me think...... he fills my heart. I want to be a better person just knowing him. If he wasn't my child he would still be one of my closest friends. He is something else. I feel so lucky to be his mom.

That Katie. She is one little ball of sunshine. She is like a little lamb. So cuddly and snuggly.

Even when she is 104 and I am 300 I will still hold her and she will be my little baby doll.

Then she needs her fierce independence like her mama. She brings sparkle and playfulness.

She would have disco balls all around our house if she could. She is playful, yet has a depth

that would surprise many. Only those close to her really know her. She does not let on.

Her art, writing, like Matt........ they both just blow me away with their creativity.

She brings out the girliness in me I never knew as a child. She teaches me that it is okay to feel pretty. Her confidence astounds me. Then she becomes a shy little girl. It is quite a combination of the two. Very beautiful to watch her blossoming.

I love watching her with her papa. It brings a great joy to my heart. I never tire of the sight of a girl with her father. She brings such joy to me this heart of mine.

This wonderful fabulous family of mine that I am so eternally grateful for. They teach me every day how to open my heart. Not to take myself and situations so seriously. Just want me to be present. That is the biggest one I am learning. Be here now. Quit ruminating about past people,

hurts, situations. It is insulting and painful to them. Those I loved, given so much energy, thought, time, heartache have long forgotten my pain. I have apologized to my family for my ignorance. For not seeing this clearly sooner.

My gift to them has come this evening as I write. I finally get what be here now means. I love them more than

words can express. These three have made me a better person. I have pushed myself to limits I never knew I could reach. Thinking of them when I felt like giving up, gave me strength. Thank you for loving me from the bottom of my heart. I am so grateful.

So, This Is What It Feels like

I am not so different than most people. Discovering. the good, bad and in-betweeners.

We are all just trying to figure it out. How to enjoy life- survive loss, be the best we can be.

I have tried to run so long from something I cannot outrun. I have decided to stop exhausting myself. It be what it be. Depression. Oh, I said it. There are more components I could address,

but for me it pretty much always will be this bugaboo. I have fought this dragon with

great nobility. No stone left unturned. I do realize what an unpopular topic this is. If I could talk of sunshine and flowers and waterfalls, my heart would

be overjoyed. I am beginning to see a pattern here. Perhaps beginning to accepting myself today a little more. Sitting in a Target parking lot of all places, talking to my sister on the phone.

This is not what I want to do with my life. I already had it buttoned down.

Writing..... no brainer. I now need it. It was a luxury before, now it has become a necessity.

How and when did that happen? I was going to dedicate my life to Hospice.

I am supposed to be there right now, tonight as I am writing these words. I cancelled. Not out of flakiness.

I can't do it right now. My heart is not in it. Not because I don't love it with all my heart.

I have a pulling, tugging, that I have been ignoring. I have not wanted to come forward.

I am so comfortable waiting in the wings. Pushing those I love to their destinations.

I missed my calling. I would have made a great pushy agent. I am great getting in everyone else's biz. Pushing hard. Now it's my turn to push myself hard and be my own agent.

But I don't wanna. Don't feel like it. Can't somebody else do it? Why me? There's enough

other people doing it, they don't need me. Whoever they are. I know the me is scared to step out of my comfort zone. Then what? I am just plain ol' scared. I am scared to stand up and be counted. To tell my Readers Digest version of how I made it out of wanting to constantly

blow my brains out. Day in and day out of hopelessness and complete, utter despair.

I am still wondering what good I have to offer those suffering deep, profound depression and loss. The road has been excruciatingly long, I won't lie. For me, there were no short cuts.

To not acknowledge a chemical imbalance in my brain, there would be no point going on writing this piece. I tried the Tom Cruise approach: just take vitamins. It almost killed me.

I guess this is my feeble attempt of saying no more. Step one. Until you have lived in debilitating depression, please don't tell someone to shake it off. That is not an option for someone suffering a chemical imbalance. It's like telling someone with cancer to cool it with the chemo. How ridiculous is that? Neither is respectful. If a person could shake it off, they sure as shit would! They are already ashamed of themselves and feel weak and less.

All they want is to feel normal. Wake up and pray that the day isn't bleak, black, hopeless.

Sunshine and love and happiness is the daily prayer. It certainly isn't hope for dark clouds and disaster. Tears flow, or a brick wall stays up for years from the sheer weight of the darkness.

The battle. Quite understandable how horrifying and difficult for those who live with someone with overwhelming depression. Especially left undiagnosed, untreated.

I always thought it was my fault, my fathers moods. My mother's mantra, "he's always so moody."

She would make constant announcements that he didn't like crowds. That in it self as her lip would curl in disdain would let us know that something was definitely not normal with him. Didn't everybody like crowds? So it cut short many trips. He was the villain and she would be in tears. We would feel disdain for him and not know why at times. The obvious of course, when he was cruel but so much was seen from her point of view. She would simply say he's just like that. Like what?

What's that mean, and how are we supposed to decipher any of this as kids?

I just always felt like I was doing everything wrong, in a nut shell.

My dad only seemed to look happy when he was smoking his cigs. It seemed like all the

answers to his problems came with each inhale and exhale. The way he looked I thought

world problems could be solved. To this day, I am so fascinated by the look people have when they step out for a smoke. They look out into the cosmos, and seem like they just know.

What that is I have no idea, they just know. It always captured the attention that I could never come close to.

It seemed normal growing up that way. I thought everybody's dad was always bummed out.

It seemed to fluctuate between bummed out or angry. Six kids in the house, things are not going to run like clock work, I am pretty sure. He would get very upset literally over spilled milk. I am angry right now that I have spilled tears on these keys as I type at the burning shame I felt just being a child. Throughout my children's lives, I don't think I have said anything to them when they have spilled something. If I did, my first words would be,"are you okay, did you get hurt"?

I don't know why this ridiculous spilled milk story is hitting me so hard. It just is.

We just wanted to be kids. That's all. Maybe I am getting how hard it has been to live with a severely depressed person. My mother has disliked my father so much. I don't know if he would have ever gotten help because the simplest things were and are battle with him.

It's not even 'pick your battles" with him. Everyone of them has been. "It's too cold to do it. Too hot." You name it , he'd tell you why the answer was no.

Up is down and down is up. Here's the tragedy. I took him seriously. It took me until not too long ago to figure out he is one of the most frightened people on the planet. I probably always knew. Just couldn't own it, too painful. That is my father. Clamping down our whole lives not for any reason but fear.

Now he is old and sad and sweet sometimes. Sometimes hurtful as well.

This is where the depression lies. I think my mother seemed a little happier earlier on.

Now they are both depressed. She more out of lack of mobility. I have to look at his side of the family. Not the happiest group of kids. They were not chipper by nature. I don't think either rocked the Captain Fantastic Ride. Not great genes to begin with!

I feel like I can breath a little more. Truth will set me free. I hope so. I am certainly not out to hurt anyone. I just don't want to hurt anymore, either. Depression. It is what it is.

Stories of how, why. Just stories. Hopefully relatable to some. It's just my experience.

See where it takes me next. Carole King singing in my headphones about love. I accept.

My Heart

Full to the brim, overflowing. Crushed, withered, smashed beyond repair.

Dancing with delight, my heart. How I try to monitor this beating, living creation inside

my body. The more I try to put a rope on it, rein it in, the wilder it beats. The more fearful and out of control it seems to become. Rather than just letting it be. Giving it space, dignity.

Trusting that it knows precisely what to do. It has come here with a specific mission to accomplish. I need to let go and let it be.

Holding my breath in great tension does not make my hearts job, intentions any easier.

Pumping harder, faster- fear mounting from lack of oxygen to my brain. Why does it take me so long to realize that this is normal. I am not from the Venutian solar system.

I am just a human being who gets frightened and anxious by people and situations,

on occasion. In admitting my heart is here to serve me, could in fact

calm me as well. Comfort me. Allow love and kindness to enter the terror zone, when things get overwhelming. Amazingly beautiful heart that actually beats in other non- Venutians.

Just human beings having experiences. I think maybe we like to look at each other as Venutian sometimes, when someone might be overly emotional, or "feeling it," when we're not.

Then sometimes the rules of engagement change. We have to be so immersed in that event, emotion, struggle, complete bliss as well. When we are severely bummed out, who wants to

see someone blissed . Share in my misery, how dare you! When we are running out for a quick errand, and have those sweats on, you know the ones reserved for watching TV, ice cream eating- not meant for human eyes. Maybe this is when Venutian living would come in handy.

This is probably their dress up wear. You bump into judge and jury chic, you know the one.

Everyone has at least one of those. You realize your hair is looking, well, hmmm....

lets just say interesting today. You just wanted to make a quick dash into Blockbusters .

There she stands, our perceived judge crew. Looking over at what was left at a pool of shrinking,

shamed us. Why, because we didn't put the right costume on to hit Ralph's and Blockbusters.

We forgot , the audacity of us that we were just living our lives, and lived as is.

If we were to look from judge and jury's life, really went inside, what a different song and dance we would hear, see. Nothing like the one we thought. The melting pool of us...... slowly slithers out of Blockbuster. The Judge we could never imagine carries wounds so deeply in her heart. The record playing over and over in her constant stereo brain might go something like this. Why can I never get it right. Standing in front of the mirror for hours not out of vanity, but agony. Not being able to "get it perfect", "get it right". That's the interesting

thing about perception . The old tapes we play in our heads over and over. Both of these women probably knew each other from high school. Now well into their, let's say 30's. Yet it continues, the fear, the perception of how they felt. Doesn't ever have to have been accurate from high school days.

The feelings carry over. Our hearts hurt. The wound stays buried deep. Then we put on our cozy sweats that everyone loves to be cozy in.

Both these gal pals are amazing. If they could see that each is really admiring the other for different reasons. Sweats momma is envied by judge, because she seems so relaxed and comfy in her own skin. She wishes she could let down some. Sweats momma looks at judge and

wonders how she always has it so pulled together. If only just like in a movie, we could trap these two in an elevator for an hour or two, let them hash it out, heart to heart.

Not the illusion of what we think, or get stuck in. But let our hearts really tell our tale.

How afraid we are sometimes. We spoke out of turn. How overjoyed we really are,

even though we look like deer in the head lights. That we never loved deeper. So very

horrified to trust. Be careful with my tender heart. Just love me. Please, don't hurt me.

Our amazing, trusting, fearful, broken, overflowing, beating hearts. To experience all of those emotions, and a zillion more if we are willing to go along for the ride.

We have the ability to open wide and let the love flow in and out from all directions. Feel the lightness, pure joy. All so true and not without risks.

The alternative, to keep it clamped down, dark, shut tight. No air, definitely risk free.

Damp , empty, yearning, sad. Then the in between of just working on it. That's a good comfort

zone. Boundaries, trusting as we go. Feeling it out. Letting in who feels good, safe, deserving of our trust. I think most people have varying degrees of comfort between all three. I sure do. Depending on my levels of .... fear, trust, love. I do know we are all doing the best we can. This heart of mine. I am liking it more the older I get.

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