Relapse Into The Wound

November 6, 2025

I thought I would be okay.

I thought enough time had passed.

I thought I had done enough work—

processing, integrating, detaching, letting go.

Living life.

Moving forward.

And I have done all those things.

But ninety minutes in close proximity

was an emotional beating on the soul fracture

still tender to the touch,

still tethered to the story I lived—

the love I felt,

and the person I once welcomed

into the most vulnerable parts of me.

I didn’t expect the anger to boil out like that.

I didn’t expect the tears to come in torrents.

I didn’t expect grief to burst through the doors of my heart

and throw a party.

I didn’t expect the longing for connection

to come roaring back to life.

I didn’t expect to feel it all—

the tidal wave in the loading zone, all over again.

God, I thought I’d be fine.

The power of proximity is real.

And the irony—

Ethics. Conflicts of interest. Disclosures.

The topics of the night.

The performance of normalcy—

lightheartedness, laughter, business,

while we ignore the trail of blood

I left behind when I walked in the door.

And then parting ways,

continuing the silence,

when all my heart wanted

was conversation, acknowledgement, repair.

Ninety minutes—

after half a year of silence—

was more than my soul could handle.

So I sit with it.

The storm still swirling inside.

And I process as I perform

the duties I stepped into.

In the moments in between,

I love myself deeply.

I allow my soul to rest,

to breathe.

The death zone of my internal Everest is real.

And I take it seriously.

I will conquer this climb

like I have every one before it.

I am fiercely, wildly, deeply proud of me.