He tentatively reaches across the bed with a warm gentle hand and I … recoil. I just need a few more delicious moments of morning mind. I need that gauzy, thought- weaving space of nourishing idea play where I breathe fully and smile involuntarily. I need that space where I belong solely to myself.
He rolls away, stares at the ceiling and blinks back rejection. With a sigh he heaves himself out of bed and leaves me in my space.
I am so sorry. I can’t give to you right now. I’m so sorry.
The above scene is from the end of my marriage. I appear selfish and cold but what you don’t know is that at that point I was so raw and over-stimulated from years of exposing my introverted nature to the harried, competitive demands of externally-driven living that I couldn’t bear the softest touch of a…
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