The Line.

There's always a fine line. Between trusting and just saying you are trusting. Between opening up and between holding back. Between not caring what others think and secretly hoping you still have a few friends left at the end of the day.

Making the choice to leave the house, two cars, and husband was a defining moment for that fine line. It made that line present in every action, inaction, and reaction. Some days, I dance near the line, toeing it and seeing if it gives when I push it. I have spent plenty of time imagining it is not there, pretending it is simply a crack in the sidewalk or some little smudge that I haven't been able to clean out of the carpet. Other days, it strangles me. I wake up with it around my neck, feel it choking me as I try to swallow my breakfast. Or it wraps it self around my face, covering my mouth so tightly that I can barely breathe. But, I have sharp teeth and scissors. And I know people who can undo coils and knots when my mouth is numb and my scissors have dulled.

More and more lately, I am putting on a brave face and telling that line that it must be the one to put the trust in me, let me decide where it sits, where it will sleep. I am learning to jump over the line and instead of fearing the stinging bite of it's surprise, I am forcing it to move for me, to contort to my needs. It is not going to go away anytime soon, but that does not mean that I need to continue to allow it to control me. I will tame the line, and learn to live with it comfortably.