The Moon falls square to the nodal axis, your need for comfort crossing the heading at ninety degrees, and the load sits on a step your feeling self keeps shrinking from. Whenever the route turns unsafe you retreat into the familiar mood, feeling backward so you never have to feel forward, soothing yourself right past the turn. The chafing is not a wound. It is setting something sturdier under the softness. Feeling turns useful the day it walks you into the hard step instead of cushioning you out of it, and the growth finds its frame each time you let yourself feel all the way through the turn.