Sometimes I struggle with what to put on this blog. How much info is too much? Where do I draw the line? How far can I push my toe over it? Where does my story end and when does it become someone else’s story to tell? How much of our shared story do I own?

Sometimes, though, I just need to write to get it out and deal with the consequences later.

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I don’t remember what it was like to feel connected. To be on the same page. To feel like we’re part of the same team, with shared goals and shared dreams.

We co-exist—mostly peacefully, sometimes not—and we sort of dance around each other, careful not to startle, to hurt, to make too much noise.

It would almost be easier if it were loud around here, if we were tripping over each other, in each other’s face.

This doesn’t go back to any one thing. There wasn’t one single problem or drama. We’ve gotten out of sync. And it’s been hard to get aligned again.

But I want to. I need to. He is the air I breathe. My heart. My soul.