I sit down here to write. This morning is blanketed in fog, a slow rain is falling. Nina Simone radio is playing, a candle flickers, I pause to warm my cold hands on my hot cup of coffee. For some reason it is important for me to write my scene. Perhaps because I go back through these web-log pages to remember. This is my space, my life is written here.
I have said before that this blog is where I show up and hold myself accountable to write, but above all this space is where I practice Gratitude. Today I am here troubled. I'm feeling sad and frustrated and a bit angry, even. As I sit with these emotions and feel them out completely, gratitude is here. Her subtle, strong hands rest on my shoulders, ease the weight. I've been praying this prayer lately: Teach me.
I want to tell you more but it's about one of my children and somewhere between my last blog and now, I'm becoming wildly protective of their stories. Theo in particular. Six going on seven, first grade, it all changes. I cannot bring myself to share too many personal details about their lives anymore. I know if I told you more you would offer up advice that I could surely use, but it's not as simple anymore as writing how I once felt like tissue paper floating through the hallways of our house in the middle of the night as I fought the urge to sleep whilst smoothing foreheads and shushing bad dreams, hurting tummies, like only a mother's soothing soul can. Here, I write from my heart about mothering them. They are bound in my words, but it is more my story.
I have learned their spirits; so insanely connected to them. But now it's their souls that I feel in my hands. It is different. Some of their painful cries now rock me so deeply that I fight for air as I choose my word-salve very, very carefully. Still the cooing and soothing, yes (and hopefully always.) But now it's real, real life. Like massively hurt feelings at an age that is still too young to process so much big realness. I am thirty-eight and I can't even always handle my misbehavior, much less someone else's. I get it.
Last night I prayed. I silently plead, Teach me, please. And I heard a single message loud and clear. Get very quiet, listen.