I've been picking up the pieces of so much of what I really love, trying to put it all back into the spaces everything normally fits so easily.
But the thing is -- spaces in the heart sometimes move and morph when we've been growing and changing and transforming.
So sometimes things that fit before don't quite fit in the new stretched and altered skin of the same beating heart.
Because life is different now.
The pregnancy losses, the anxiety, the GI isssues, a forever-feeling sinus infection - each has taken a lot out of me.
That energy out had left little time for anything other than simply healing, simply existing, simply caring for the day-to-day needs of a family for most of December.
And yet a new day, a new year dawns and suddenly in that stretched out heart skin, those spaces beg to filled with beauty.
I pick up my camera for the first time in weeks, and I find in the swift finger click shuttercloseopen that the effort to capture is worthwhile because the warmth in the moments frozen in time reenergizes me.
I press-bleed bright colors onto creamy paper, giving story to the blankness freely with nothing and everything and I feel the pinks and purples and oranges flush through my veins in a burst of life.
I push my body into the setting sunlight and cold air of December and words begin writing themselves on my mind before they ever find pages while my feet pound the pavement; and the energy out actually replaces twofold with energy in.
I'm left in these moments of beauty with more that's come in than what's gone out.
Though none of the pieces fit quite like they once did, they come into the new-stretched spaces and begin to swell and fill the openness.
And I call this, too, healing.