My hard edges.

My hard edges. Drawing Luke Hockley.

My hard edges. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

There are spikey parts of me.

Parts that are less pleasant and are very uncomfortable to look at.

I’ve got a hard and sharp edge that will cut you if you come at me the wrong way.

I saw this yesterday in a telephone conversation I had.

My hard edges were in response to someone not being straight with me about something.

I go all quiet and cold. I give nothing away.

Because I’m trying to get my feet back underneath me. Trying to get my bearings. And while I can’t feel my feet and I don’t know which direction is north I don’t want to move.

Truth is I probably just want to run away and hide for a moment. Think about what is going on, formulate a response, but I don’t feel like this is an option. Running away feels like a failure.

But it’s not running away, or failing, it’s just taking some time to think. And I reckon just calmly stating that and doing it is going to be better for everyone.

In yesterday’s conversation I feel like I did slightly better. Ever so slightly better than I have in the past. I had a sense that something was going on and I (a little too late) just asked for some more time to think everything through.

A little progress is better than no progress.

Isn’t it?



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Day 1,072

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