Today I recognize my choices for what they were—an unfortunate and unskillful habit of treating how I felt like a directive. I realize how often, in intimate and vulnerable relationships, I responded with a habituated neurological urge to pursue what I considered comfortable feelings while avoiding the discomfort.
I know his morning I will need to take the gloves off if I want to break the Pattern that brought me here. I will have to embrace the role of Villain if I want to be free.
And that scares me.
Shit can turn on a dime.