Tag: hope

Pressure

You would have been 80 tomorrow. Mother’s Day was yesterday. It has been 36 years. 

This is my background noise. Grief, a longing for something I may never have had. The forefront is just a mass of confusion. One I would like to talk to you about. 

I thought I had an idea of who I was. I thought I knew the trajectory I was on. And as I sit here, in the ‘day between’ reminders, the month before the 37th anniversary of loss, all I can think is I don’t know.

I don’t know what comes next

I don’t know if I will ever be rid of pain

I don’t know what will happen with my career

I don’t know where I am going

I don’t know if I am parenting adequately

I don’t know if I can heal some of these old wounds

I don’t know who I am

The picture I created in my heart and mind of what I would be when I passed ‘the date’ (you know, the one where I finally became my own adult, the one where I out lived you)

It lasted for a brief time.

I was in adventure mode- I felt strong, unlimited, interesting, amused.

And as fast as that fire was lit- poof- it was dampened

Fear? Pushback? Fall prey to old patterns? Punishment? 

I blurred my edges to try to fit. I did not know how to temper my excitement at feeling the most like me I had ever felt. So I apologized. I blurred. I asked. I apologized some more- but it was empty, I had gotten too blurry to matter. I had created and allowed this. 

To try to change, I have stripped bare my self- open to examination, picking through. There are more questions than answers. What will it take to sharpen my edges? 

This is what I would ask you. I would ask you if you ever felt this? Would you have a story for me? A lesson or example to share. Would you tell me to find my muchness? This phantom conversation plays in the background, like a wish within the chaos. 

Is this aging? Is this emerging? Is this crazy? Is this healing? 

It is transforming, to what?

I don’t know

Mother’s Day

A rush of emotion today. I first became a mom almost 28 years ago-

I made one of the best and hardest decisions of my life. That child has grown to a fine man, and I am forever grateful to the Mom I chose for him, she is the template I strive to emulate.

13 years ago, the little bean in my belly was months away from being born, and today my gratitude for the beautiful soul that chose me only grows. There’s been challenges, mistakes, adventures, laughter and frustrations but all of it with love.

36 years ago, the two women who raised me, were lost to me. My Mom and my Nan went to summerland when I was 12, but I can still recall smells, touches, snippets of wisdom and silliness ( although the true sound of the voices are but phantoms). My Nan’s wisdom and curiosity reside in my heart and soul. My Mom’s love and humour I imagine are woven into my life’s armour.

There have been women in my life who have mothered me gently, who have mothered me firmly and offered their wisdom, guidance and love. I hold much gratitude for all of them.

Today is a mix of joy and grief. The intensity of love. ❤️

“But what is grief if not love persevering?” – Vision

We are born of love. Love is our Mother – Rumi

Morning Spell

The sky lightens

Inky darkness passes

The sun not yet breaking the horizon

Grey mystic light, hovering

Magic folk still revelling in the dissipating shadows

Dancing in the dew, charting courses by the stars

They call to me

Have faith, you are moving closer to your heart

Your magic has not dimmed, only covered by the din of everyday

Come to dance, in the cool wet grass

Remember who you are

Who you were, before you gave it away

Call the pieces home, take back the self you shared to those who did not see

The weave of spells that you are

A chorus of birds to sing me home

Blessed be the Witches in the magic of the dawn.

Dark Dismantling

We all have something that we are terrified of. Something that we dread, that we push from our minds, that lays in wait in the dark places.

Sometimes it’s rational fears, sometimes it may appear to be irrational. Sometimes it’s a rational fear that has grown so large it can’t be contained to an ‘appropriate’ size.

I know I’m not the only one struggling. It’s getting harder to speak up because it seems there is no space. Everyone has something. We are all so starved to be heard, validated and soothed. Yet it seems there is very few to listen.

But here I sit in the predawn hours wrestling some of my very specific monsters.

Parts of my career are in flux.

The part where I do not work for myself has me shaken and insecure about my abilities due to ‘ratings on a score card’, the cold devalued feeling that my contributions are now subpar. The removal of any feeling of team. No human emotional considerations, conversations or care.

I wrestle with how my body is not able to tolerate the physical exertion of my career ( where I do work for myself in service of others) to the extent I used to be able to work.

I am still capable, but where my comfort number was 6 it’s now 3-4.

Constant pain to varying degrees.

This is coupled with trying to figure out other parts of my life, relationships with others and myself. I am turned inside out. My contents scattered. My identity wrapped in questions. The assurance I used to get from what I thought I knew, what I thought I was…… no longer valid. Detached

Is this the darkest part of the journey? ( at least until death?) and who is going to come out the other side? Who will shine the light during my dark dismantling?

Illuminate

I asked
Show me what to change
Show me what is missing
Show me what remains

I began to dig in the dirt- take the monuments apart
I took a moment to listen to my heart – the whispers buried in the rubble
I appreciated what appeared- if only for a moment.

I sighed
It will take patience
Nothing, for it is within me and in front of me
It may not be where I want it, but trust it will be when I need it most

Birthday

The night before.

I have so much in my head.

I’m sitting thinking of what this night may have been like for my mom.

I’m thinking about how she never got to see this number for herself.

I’m thinking about how I’m not sure I’ve done enough with this gift of time.

I’m thinking about who I want to be

I’m thinking about who I am

I’m thinking about the things that have broken my heart.

I’m thinking about the things that have bandaged my heart.

I’m thinking about what kind of cake there might be tomorrow.

Happy Birth Day 💜

Your Prison

It’s ok.

Vulnerability is hard, but I don’t judge you for it.

I don’t judge you for not knowing. For finding it so difficult.

Your tears don’t frighten me.

Your fears don’t frighten me.

I see your overwhelmed humanness

I never had any other expectations- you had already placed so many upon yourself.

I can not fix it for you. But I will be here while you try. A hand to hold, a shoulder to lean, an ear to listen and a heart full of compassion to rest in.

The walls you built to hold you up imprison you with your demons. You have made it hard to reach you, the noise so deafening you can not hear. The frustration of self so loud you think the sound is outside your head and coming from my lips.

If you looked in my eyes, the reflection of you that you would see is one of gentleness, kindness, love

Not the unworthy monster you believe is lurking.

Yet- you think I must lie. How can I see your strength, your beauty, your worth? You demonstrated it over and over to those around, but forgotten to save a bit of light for yourself.

The light you gave me to hold once, when my own battle became so dark I could not see, is a treasure I wish to return to you, to light your way. But you can not see enough to take it.

My heart aches watching you battle. Seeing your wounds erupt from within. I can not love you enough to fill the holes you keep tearing. How can you believe your grace is poison?

How can you believe you are not loved?

I ask the Gods to help you, to hear you, to guide you through. I’ll always be here, when you release yourself from the dark.

Shame

Shame perverts everything we do.

Why? What do we have to feel shamed about? Emotions? Needs? The flesh that carries us? The mind that creates? Our desires? Fears? Our successes? Failures? Our mistakes? Our vulnerability? Our kindnesses?

The shame we carry can make us closed, cruel, judgmental – indifferent to expressions of gratitude, love, caring, joy.

It divides us.

We push it off on others, not acknowledging it is our own burden we carry. We believe that love, compassion and understanding are not for us. We are not worthy.

There is so much I want to write- so much I want to express. I just want to roar

FUCK YOU

I don’t want this any more.

Fuck you to anyone who has ever made you feel lesser than.

I will not be shamed for my vulnerability

I will not be shamed for my caring

I will not be shamed for my body

I will not be shamed for my willingness to try

I will not be shamed for my past

I will not be shamed for who I am

I will not be shamed for the love I give

I will not be shamed for trying to heal

I will not be shamed for my truth

I will not be shamed for asking for help

I will not be shamed for offering help

You can try,

by your words

your actions

your silence

to tear me down

to your level

Here I will not stay

You can keep your judgements

You can keep you helpful arrows

You can keep your cloak of shame

I will shed mine and rise above

Children Today

Torture to see pain and fear in your child’s eyes

How do we explain the world? The lack of empathy. The constant fear drum being beat relentlessly.

Wanting to say everything will be alright, feeling the words dry up on your tongue because you don’t know. Never make promises you can’t keep.

Her heart is heavy. Mine is breaking.

I hold her, wipe away the tears, fighting back my own.

Hope, hope, find it, enough to share. I can not bare one more thing.

Until I have to.

Tell her ‘bout the wheel, how it will turn. It won’t stay like this forever. It can’t.

A piece of childhood shattered. Another bit lost.

I must be her port. Hold steady despite my fear.