I know I’ve been sucked back into the madness when I flinch at a request for any kind of help: the text of a friend asking for my time, the email seeking some counsel. Or when Stasi shares the report of friends in crisis and everything in me wants to pull away rather than move toward them. Or when I don’t even want to look at email, because I know there are demands waiting for me there. The flinch, wince, long hesitation, unhappy sigh; the avoidance, the inability to enter in—these are symptoms that we’re running on fumes again. Our capacity for relationship is such a wonderful gauge. We are
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