I could find a million analogies to describe the place I am in: deafening silence, sinking body, closed gate, swimming in tar... I am stuck. Like when you sit in a chair that is too small, clinging to your butt after you stood up; like a lingering, bad smelling perfume sprayed on you without your consent; like an accelerated heart palpitation that won't slow down. I know these feelings well. I have been sitting with them patiently, befriended them, asked them questions that often go unanswered. I have been trying to find ways to push forward and let go of that which does not exist anymore. I keep telling myself mantras of acceptance to no avail.
These past months I have realized that somehow, this painful place brings comfort because of its familiarity. It's such an inviting place, really. A place that allowed you to grieve, to cry your losses, to be vulnerable. But it's also one that can suck you in so easily into its sweet inertia. I have been trying to pull myself out of it, and many days I am successful at it. But there are other days that despite my strongest efforts, I lack the strength to move on. There are days where the awareness of just how broken certain things are is so devastating that crushes any motivation I might have. In these moments where I think I have nothing left to give, where I can't pull myself out, I see blinding glimpses of light, I see him running toward me, I hear my son. I observe him closely, I see his innocence, his elongating body, his curious big eyes devouring the world around him. With his unstoppable growth, I see him switch from one stage to the other so eagerly, so swiftly. I see him develop an interest and then dropping it, wanting to be a fireman one day and a cowboy the next, moving on to the next thing without hesitation. The contrast this creates with my adult life makes me ask myself: when and why did we loose this openness as adults? Why do we oppose change so much? When did we develop this numbing need for stability?
It is often us parents setting the example for our kids, teaching them the indispensable lessons. But the simplicity I witness in how my son inhabits his world is one of the greatest teachings I am receiving for moving on. His childlike openness, his joy, his dependence on me, it's such a powerful reminder that life gets renewed every second, you get an opportunity with each loving act you offer another person. This exposure to my son's development and growth makes me resourceful in my process, and it's the greatest testimony that life keeps pushing forward... it can never stop, and neither can you.
3 comments:
Bella, that place you talk about is a space that comes with incredible possibilities... I have been there too...many times and though each time I am there I am a different person, it tends to feel like I am back at square one...until amazing friends and loved ones remind you that your miles away from your beginnings and that this "may be step one" but in journey number 34 not number one. Stillness is needed for change and change is needed for stability...AND patience, gratefuleness and positive support from loved ones is needed through it all! Thanks for sharing
I LOOOOOOVE this post. If this is what you create from that space let me tell you that is beautiful. Your son is beautiful.
I live for change, I love change since I'm a kid, always eager for something new, and now I'm trying the opposite, I'm trying to like stability before I have kids because I now totally appreciate how my parents gave me a core with their routines, they made me feel safe in an insecure world.
Every space we found ourselves has its purpose, a lovely one if we choose to think so, something I haven't mastered but I try to remember.
Blessings to you and your son!
Thank you Yadira and Carolina for being so open and giving in sharing your thoughts with me. I feel your great energy. I guess we can never have the whole picture figured out, each day shows us the way.
Blessings to you both!
Post a Comment