Moving toward the Magnet

I could have written this. Not all the details are the same, but yeah. I relate.
It's an odd feeling, this kind of relating. The Alumni club nobody ever wanted to be a part of.
Hi I'm Sensuous Wife and my first experience, hell, my first *era* of sexual experiences was coerced and of an awfully unhealthy nature.
There are places in my heart that are healed.
There are places in my heart that are not.
The whole process has been like removing shrapnel one piece, one sliver, one twisted chunk at a time. Not that I could remove the shrapnel by myself. I just chose to place myself in proximity to the one who could. can. I walked toward the magnet.
Y'see, it's like God is this powerful magnet, drawing the little pieces of metallic shrapnel out of my heart, one by one. Taint easy and by no means painless. There are exit wounds. A little bloody path made by the shrapnel as it's pulled out of my heart. God draws it out, and then sometimes quickly sometimes agonizingly slowly the exit wound heals. And I rejoice over the patch of non-metallic healed flesh. After a respite, the process starts over again. Here's the good hopeful part. After a while, the patch of healed heart has grown larger until a recognizable healthy human sexuality is visible to the naked eye. (More naked and more visible to my eyes and my husband's eyes in particular, but obvious to anyone who knows me fairly well. Impossible to hide this kind of soulsexy aliveness.) And I celebrate it for all it's worth. Cause it's worth a helluva lot. It's glorious.
Will all the shrapnel be pulled out of my heart before Jesus takes me home to Heaven? Prolly not. But I will keep walking toward the Magnet, staying in the painful glorious healing process all my life as an exquisite act of worship. My song.
Oh and I'll celebrate the heck out of the healed de-shrapneled zone in my heart. With whipped cream and a cherry on top and coconut oil and frothy lingerie. Seems like the least I can do. And it's high time this girl had some FUN.
Hunger/filled/hunger/filled/hunger mourning/dancing/mourning/dancing/mourning
This is the rhythm of pre-Heaven exisitence. I'm learning to dance to the rhythm. -SW

Thank you, Adventures in Stepford, for putting your heart out there that way. It empowered me to put my heart out there this way. This little interchange is proof that we become our best selves in community. Peace out.