As a child, I would pick my scabs. I rarely wore bandaids so I could keep an eye on what was happening with my wounds. Within days or sometimes even hours, I would begin peeling back a corner of my wound to see what progress was being made. I would silently ask the wound, "Are you healed yet?" The many scars on my body give a silent answer.
I am still that little child in many ways. I get wounded emotionally and keep checking in on the wound, revisiting it, watching it, exposing it to further injury, asking "Are you healed yet?" I am impatient with the process. I think that if there are wounds within me, even ones in the process of healing, that I can't possibly be whole. That I'm less somehow.
This time around though, my heart is not being so yielding to this habit. My heart is wounded, not mortally, but deep enough to literally feel the ache heaving through my chest. It cries out for healing, and I, rip off the bandaid that shields it from the world and pour salt in it. And it cries louder still. Will I listen? Can I ?