Rooted, I used to think.

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The Chief - Tuesday, Sept. 01, 2020
Shelter - Monday, Aug. 24, 2020
Sunset Swimming - Saturday, Aug. 22, 2020
Sky Pilot - Monday, Aug. 17, 2020
Building Bridges - Thursday, Aug. 06, 2020

Tuesday, Aug. 04, 2020 @ 12:35 pm

The dreams continue. In the dreamworld, I am late. A small animal dies, and it is my fault. I lose important items. I am lost. Daniel yells at me. I am trapped under a boat and am gasping for air and know that I am about to die. I can’t remember the combination for the lock, and time is running out. I am scared.

I wake up next to Russell. He moves to hold me, and he rubs my back with his large, gentle hand.

As his hand caresses my back, my insides calm. I recall a distant memory of being touched in this way as a baby, naked and diapered in my crib. His hand on my back makes me feel safe and loved.

I don’t think that I’ve felt safe since I was a child.


Over the long weekend, we climb a mountain peak. We camp with friends at a hot, interior lake. I wear a bathing suit for three days straight. We drive the campervan through the mountains and then onto a gravel road and tuck it into the trees beside an energetic creek. I slowly take off his clothes and make love to him, cedar branches rustling in the breeze, cool clean air moving across my skin. We climb an arête in a canyon above a different river, this one hued milky cerulean with minerals.


Something needs to change. Maybe I need more therapy.

I want to wake up relaxed and confident more than once a year.

I no longer need to be afraid.

Roots | Shoots