The trouble with touch
Often in the morning, still laying bed, he wants to touch me. A hand on my tummy, or rubbing my back... it's his kind and loving way of saying good morning. And it is often very difficult for me. Sometimes I am able to accept his love, even when it's not easy. But sometimes, more times, I am not. I cringe or freeze up. I pull away or get angry. These are the times that are very challenging for both of us. It hurts his feelings, and I can understand that. If he were to ever shrink from my touch I would be crushed.
But he is a wonderful and patient man, and he is encouraging me to talk to him. To tell him what it does to me, how it makes me feel. There are some things that I am not ready to talk about, but there is one that I was able to tell him, and it makes me happy that I was able to. Even happier that he is who he is and is willing and able to help me work through it.
When I feel his hands on me sometimes, I think that he will notice what I know is true. What I believe in a way that runs deeper than I can understand. That I am gross. Disgusting. Untouchable and wholly Unlovable. That he will sense this truth and he will know these horrible things about me. And of course we talked, he explained, reassured and with his gentle, loving way, he made that moment better. He says things like "I adore you. Every part of you is wonderful" And I know that he means the words he says. He understands that what we are doing is building *me* up, not just building me up to depend on him more.
I am having a good day. A good few days so far and for that I am infinitely grateful. I will use this time well and pray for more good days. Right at this moment I feel safe. I feel safe, and loved and lovable. And right at this moment I could not ask for more.