Healing in the Middle: Between Me and Love

 

Healing in the Middle: Between Me and Love

There’s a kind of ache that doesn’t have a name.

It lives somewhere between longing and self-preservation.

It’s not quite desperation, but it’s not peace either.

I’ve been sitting in that space lately — the space between who I was, who I’m becoming, and who I might someday love.

I don’t know if I’m healing.

I walk, I run, I write. I sit in the dunes with the wind in my hair and words spilling out of me like prayer. But is that healing? Or is it just movement?

I’m never still. But maybe stillness isn’t the only way through.

Wanting a Man vs. Needing One

Here’s the thing: I want to love again.

I want someone to sit around the fire with me, laugh with me, rub my feet without being asked. Someone who says, “What do you need, love?” and really means it.

But I also know the truth: life isn’t always a campfire.

It’s dishes and grey mornings and little annoyances.

And eventually, even the most romantic man becomes part of the everyday furniture of your life. That’s not cynicism. That’s reality. And I’m not naïve enough to chase only the spark anymore — I want something that stays lit after that first spark.

Rubbing My Own Feet

Right now, I am the one who rubs my feet.

Who asks myself what I need.

Who listens when I’m sad, who forgives me when I’m not strong, who walks with me, writes with me, becomes still with me.

This is what healing looks like — not a big dramatic “aha!”

But a quiet revolution of self-love.

This is what it means to grow into myself after 33 years of marriage.

Not to return to who I was before — but to become someone new.

I don’t know what I want yet.

But I know what I don’t want.

I don’t want crumbs.

I don’t want confusion.

I don’t want someone who only shows up when it’s convenient.

And I definitely don’t want to explain over and over why I’m worthy of effort.

Between Me and Love

So yes, I may still want love. I may still fantasize about someone reaching across the bed and pulling me into warmth and safety.

But not at any cost.

If someone wants to be in my life, they will walk toward me with open hands and honest words. They will see me — not just the pretty version, but the messy one too.

I am not healed. But I am healing.

And that is holy work.