First, you run from it.
It scares you.
You realize that the outer work is the inner work.
You avoid it, at all costs.
You turn away.
You busy yourself with a thousand useless tasks, ticking them off with the triumph of a queen.
It keeps calling to you, beckoning you to go deeper.
To keep peeling back those layers, fleshy and sensitive, pungent with hurt and pain.
So you peel.
You keep peeling, and peel some more.
It stings, leaves you raw and wrung out.
Then the healing begins, and you feel the peace rush in.
And suddenly the work isn’t scary.
The work is oxygen.
It is saving you.