Time continues to pass and yet, still, here it is.
Day after day is spent working to remove its stain, I crawl into bed tired. And then, sometimes it haunts me there too. I wake up, a child on Christmas, and march to the bathroom mirror only to see, yes, it’s still there. A shadow lurking over my shoulder. Quieter now, but it’s presence speaks a thousand words.
Patience is essential in recovery and life in general. Progress is slow, especially the kind that matters. There is no one set protocol or calculated time frame. We march to the beat of our own drummer.
I recall a time in which my mind was in a constant state of restless activity. Patience is the opposite of this. And I want anything and everything that is the opposite of that. Just as the seasons can’t be hurried, neither can recovery.
Can you be blamed for wanting to hurry away from torment and pain? No. But impatience simply won’t help. I want to notice my impatience when it arises. Allow for some selfless compassion, and then remind myself that things unfold according to their own nature. I want to be willing to be patient, even in the face of enormous suffering.