Being in a relationship again has been rather difficult. Those of you who have read this from the beginning will have noted my general inability to just let things be, my worries, my attempts at self-sabotage.

It's gotten easier as it's gone on — and I've been lucky enough to find someone who is more than willing to accept my various insecurities and let me take things at my own pace.

He sent me an email once. It said, "Everyone in your life owes you patience." I think that meant more to me than anything anyone's said in the course of the past two years. Saying that it's all right to not feel okay right away, to not feel ok still. To need time, to need space, even to backslide a little.

It's a long process, this healing thing. And maybe there's no such place as "healed" — maybe there's always scar tissue. And maybe that's okay, too.

I was getting coffee one morning at this place up the hill — a coffee place I don't go into that often. It's small and crowded, the baristas are way too hip to be friendly, and it's a little out of my way. But it has quotes painted all over the ceiling and walls. I was waiting for my latte and saw this one:

"Be not afraid of going slowly — be afraid of standing still." —Chinese proverb

I had read it before, I must have. I'd been there before. I'd read them all before. But suddenly, this one was personal.

It's okay to go slow. It's okay to take the time you need. As long as in taking that time you're not merely standing there.

What he said next in that email: "You have two choices: Grow into your future or repeat your past. If you worry too much about what happened before, you can make it happen again.

Sometimes it's hard to find that balance, to tell the difference between cautious and scared. I think we just have to keep it in our heads. We are allowed to move slowly. We're allowed to grieve, and we're allowed to need time. But even if it's slowly, even if it's one little baby step at a time, we have to move.