You’re on the couch. It’s been a long day. You’ve waited for this moment since 6AM, and it’s here. Finally.

Then out of the corner of your eye, you see it. You double-take. Dread fills your heart. Anxiety clouds your mind, and your palms sweat.

Now, you’re faced with a choice. One that could determine the fate of your new sweater that you just bought the other week and if you pull this thread it could ruin the material and it could be one of those threads that never stops until you get scissors or use your teeth, but what if you pull too much? and the fabric does that thing where it turns into an accordion? and now you have that wavy, stretched out look and…..

Okay, a bit overblown. BUT, have you ever looked at a loose thread on whatever you’re wearing and not tried to pull it? (If you answered yes to that, I don’t trust you).

Lately I’ve been thinking about how threads are like our pain. Let me explain.

Let’s say my heart is a sweater. I may guard it from getting wet by pulling my sleeves up. If it’s uncomfortable due to my surroundings, I can remove it to better adapt. But I mostly don’t think about it too much while I’m wearing it. It’s just there.

Now when a loose thread, or pain, appears why is it so hard to pull? Why do I avoid it like the plague? Pretend it’s not there.

Because my heart is not a sweater.

My heart carries my story in it. My story carries my pain. And I’m afraid if I pull the thread of my pain, I’ll unravel.

But if I allow pain to be my guide. Follow the thread. If I let myself be unraveled. Only then will I find the fabric of who truly I am. What I was made for. And only then will I be ready to be knit back together into something new.

Perhaps a henley.