One small step ... back.

It's part of healing to take one step back after our few steps forward when mending our pain.  I hadn't had any real tears for quite a few days.  I guess I turned my head to look in the pit for a moment.

Granted, it was a short moment ... which is relieving.

The view I took was small enough that I didn't have to stare intently at the wreckage of swollen eyes upon waking.  Mind you, that could be because I'm still focusing on those nasty red spots that decided to infiltrate my skin.

Last night, I had to go to a meeting that I'm on a board for.  Only one person in that room knows my secret, and I haven't spoken to her about it since the day I divulged my sorrow.  I can't talk freely about 'it' with another because she's still grieving the loss of her own wife from a tragic accident.

My grieving is miniscule in comparison.

There I sat, feeling the impending secret taking over.  The fear that people will judge me for how poorly I'm dealing with losing my wife to male transformation.

I felt the covert agony bubbling up to expose itself in a blast of vulnerability.

Fear.

I realized I'm still not quite able to walk outside of my diminutive habitat of 15 people that I've created.  My wee bubble of safety.

I have always been a very social person.  My whole life I've thrived in groups, itching to have my voice heard and be seen.  It's all part of being an extrovert performer.

For two months now, I've become a silent recluse outside of my safe asylum.

I was so grateful to be secretary on this board, as I only had to keep my head down and type madly with every word that needed to be documented.  I was alone in the room of people who like me, but the anxiety that they could find out my true point of view about my love's transforming could cause them to think I'm an wretched person.

Don't speak.

Then the worst thing happened; some of them played the omega in trying to get my attention and to make me smile.

That made things worse.  The knowledge that they noticed my inability to be present was overwhelming.

I sat at the table choking back tears and had to step outside of my body when one member asked me if she could give me a hug.  I said yes, clinging to the moment of physical human energy that embodied us for that moment of acceptance.

Don't speak.

Then another member left and said, "Say hello to your wonderful wife."

I felt as though I might implode.

My wife?  My wife is leaving.

I left feeling embarrassed and so small that I felt I blended in with the sidewalk that led me to my vehicle.

My tears sensed it was safe time to break through, so they began to fall the moment my hand touched the car door.  I cried along the drive to pick up my sweetheart and couldn't wait for my love to get in and stop the pain with those curing back rubs of love.

As per usual, Papi's tenderness averted my eyes from the pit, walking me through the options of how to keep my eyes on the possibility that this was just a step back.  This moment didn't mean I'm not doing well.

My love reminded me that I must step outside of my trusting environment a little more often so that I don't develop some kind of phobia.  I must continue to be around people.  This is going to be a hard next step in healing.

I know I told myself that even though things felt like I was walking on the right path, there would be days that I would feel like I was falling again.

I reminded myself that 'tomorrow' is another day to try again.  Wait till tomorrow!  It might feel better!

And it does.

As long as I don't have to see anybody that isn't in my 'trust circle' I should be fine.

Oh dear, I just remembered I have to go to a meeting with them this afternoon.

**sigh**