225 // Passive Healing

Happy Friday the 13th! Most people consider these days unlucky, but as someone who was born on a 13th, I’m fascinated by them. This year only has one such Friday, and this is it. We won’t see another until next May.

I’ve celebrated many a Friday the 13th in the past getting new tattoos when many shops offer deals and special “flash” for as low as $13 or $21, but not this year. I recently had my knees done and plan for more work in just a few short months so the urge isn’t strong and with Covid making appointment slots scarce I’d rather wait but I thought I’d at least share some of my past pieces with you:

This is one of the last easy and early Fridays I will have for the foreseeable future, and I am taking full advantage. I have just a few minor tasks today before I head back home and spend the rest of the afternoon writing. It’s been a long time since I could sit down and devote time to settling, organizing, and expressing my thoughts. It’s been some time since I felt like myself enough to even try.

But time is passing and with it, a kind of passive healing that allows for unconscious processing. I’m working through it even when I don’t know it, even when I’m working on other things, even when I think I’m stuck.

My hope is that there will be more time for active healing soon, but for now, I’m comforted by the idea that my mind and body know what to do. We never really stop taking care of ourselves. It’s instinct. Even at our most destructive, we are only ever trying to fill the voids and heal the wounds.

Looking ahead to the coming weeks, I see a lot of unknowns coming my way and unknowns always make me anxious. I’ve been practicing the art of mindfulness and staying in the present. Each day only has room for itself and I’ve long had a bad habit of overfilling them with the worries of years past and weeks to come. When you let each day be its own and save tomorrow for tomorrow and let the past stay passed, time lightens up. You lighten up and, suddenly, the load gets easier to carry.


Published by

Lisa Marie Blair

Painfully aware. Profoundly afraid. Perpetually falling in and out of love with humanity. She/They.

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