I feel like I have a list of things that I need to process. They relate to many areas of my life and they all drain me emotionally as my life and/or my deliberate avoidance hits the snooze button on sitting in these feelings. One of the things on my proverbial list of things that require a journal entry and possibly some tears is my continual evolution as a mother. In particular, we're at the tail end of a long process of developmental screening for my 2 year old, Penny. As a caretaker, particularly because I've had the strange fortune of essentially raising my two daughters one at a time (Macy started kindergarten 3 weeks after Penny was born, so I'm getting 5 years of one-on-one time of life preparation with each of them before they launch into full-time school), I am good at adapting to my children. This means that I can accommodate their preferences and personalities and mold our daily patterns around what suits them best and for the most part, I'm happy if they're happy. (This is also what makes me a fabulous world traveler, if we're bragging here). My daughters are really different so it was interesting for me to approach parenting Penny in a new way. It's also been 5 years and she's a second kid, so I've changed a ton as a person as well as a mother.
Penny is a really unique kid. She can be so stinking charming. And she can be incredibly intolerant of anything she does not consent to or like. She wasn't an early talker and was frustrated often by that as well as by life in general for awhile there. Things have opened up for her as she's gotten more comfortable socially and better able communicate with words (she was always communicating but the screams didn't go over as well as her words do now:) That being said, I know how to be a buffer for her in stressful social situations, when she's tired or hungry and when her toddler-esque language requires translating. Macy did not require such a buffer (as much) and was more independent socially. It's amazing what you get used to as a parent as you adjust to your child and whatever life requires of you to be what they need. Just ask a post-partum mother who's up nursing every 2 hours for months on end. It sucks. But you can get used to it. It's wild, really, what becomes normal. And then the phase ends and you back and think "how the hell did I do that?" You just did.
As was out in the world with my charming grouch, I began to see which aspects of Penny's development were "normal" and which aspects might be more atypical. I'm perfectly fine to be raising a non-conformist and don't feel the need to use her behavior to make me look good. Sure, sometimes it's emotionally tiring to deal with moments where your child is behaving in a way that doesn't give you positive attention from strangers, but I don't let that dictate my parenting. I just let that give me permission to increase my self-care on those days (and by "self-care" I mean "chocolate intake"). And so I began the process of developmental screenings. Because ultimately, the mommy buffer must stand down at some point and in the meantime, I'd like professional guidance on how to buffer best. And boy, it's a lot of screening! They check fine motor, gross motor, adaptive, speech, social/emotional and sensory skills. This required me to sit on my couch and watch strangers test my child. So many moments I wanted to jump in and explain, rephrase, or just stop the testing. It is so incredibly vulnerable to have your child's abilities be ascertained and placed on a bell curve. How reductionistic to see this magical person be graphed based on the average of her peers! I felt like I was being tested, that if she couldn't answer a question it was because I hadn't asked it, that her potential to be typical rested in my ability to draw her potential out. (This is a really fun experience for a caretaking perfectionist, by the way. I highly recommend cancelling your next vacation and calling up the early intervention people. You won't be sorry!) And while I knew these things weren't true, that she would be her no matter what hoops I jump though, it was very emotional for me to sit back and allow her to be assessed so thoroughly and by such capable professionals. You can't pull one over on these people!
And as you can imagine, having the sit down after all the tallying has been done and being presented with reams of information about your child is difficult. How can anyone tell me anything about my child that I don't already know? Who are you to explain my child to me? (The professionals through this process have been incredibly gracious and kind. These are just the big feelings the process unearthed.) And what do they have to tell me? What is possible and maybe impossible for my child's future based on the information within these reams of paper? If I burn them up, is the information still true? I'm not going to get into the details of Penny's results because this blog is about me (also why I haven't written much about my husband's job loss and season of part-time employment) but it all came down to this moment. At the end of her initial assessment, the two professionals asked me, "Ultimately, what are your goals through this process? What do you want to see for Penny?" And I said, "You know what? There are behaviors about living with Penny that have been difficult to parent. There are things we'd like to work on. But really, what I want for my child is to reach her full potential as a person, whatever that is. I believe that she will show me that. And I just want the tools to help her be that person. I want to know if my expectations of her are fair. I want to know when and how to accommodate her and I want to know when and how far to push her. Because the world will not accommodate her once she's on her own. I want to build her up and then I want to send her out as prepared for whatever lies ahead as best as I possibly can. And she will take that and do with it what she will. I want to know how to support her and to be whatever she needs however she needs it." And if that isn't motherhood, I don't know what is.
Friday, April 22, 2016
Friday, April 15, 2016
The Whirlwind of Newborns
One of my best friends became a mother this week. She used to be one of "our teens" when we were in youth ministry. Her childhood home is just a few blocks from ours and she often came over after school to hang out with me. We'd listen to Jack Johnson (hello 2005!) and play cards for hours. We weren't an obvious pair. She was quiet and wore "boy clothes" in those years and I had highlights and was as chatty as ever. But our ying/yang vibe always worked and I find that many of my closest friends are similar in temperament to my dear Tim.
She hasn't been one of "our kids" in a long time, pretty seamlessly transitioning into one of my peers. We still love to play cards though it's much harder since I brought kids into the mix 8 years ago. I was at her wedding and helped throw her baby shower. And I had the honor of being one of her darling son's first visitors. And as I was driving to the hospital to meet him, I was taken back to my own post-partum experiences. Reflecting on how I've been influenced by the experiences of motherhood and then specifically by the personhood of each of my daughters, I wrote this:
Motherhood obliterates you
Then stitches you back together
You're still you, technically
But everything is in a slightly different place
This little creature has destroyed you
and made you infinitely better
You've never been so vulnerable,
this extension of you out in this
big, scary world.
How can you control it all,
keep them safe, help them grow?
You've never been so big, so bold
Fierce to the death, you speak
when you would have stayed silent
Fight when you would have conformed
On behalf of this bewitching creature
you wouldn't hesitate to go to war
So small, so mighty, these few pounds
of dependent humanity
change every cell in your body.
In love, entranced, you orbit
around them, every sigh, every sneeze
is breath-taking.
Even their shit is cute.
Babies turn hard asses to mush
and pushovers into warriors.
These magical creatures are mesmerizing
They keep you up, soak you in vomit
Those first few months take you to your knees
They shatter you, they heal you,
They take you to the brink of insanity.
Yet in that fog, there is pure,
unadulterated bliss
Every time you breathe in
that spicy scalp or feel their
tiny chest rise and fall against yours
Those tiny toes, their skin that folds
Their sweet, persistent suckle.
The most enchanting drug in the world?
Newborns.
She hasn't been one of "our kids" in a long time, pretty seamlessly transitioning into one of my peers. We still love to play cards though it's much harder since I brought kids into the mix 8 years ago. I was at her wedding and helped throw her baby shower. And I had the honor of being one of her darling son's first visitors. And as I was driving to the hospital to meet him, I was taken back to my own post-partum experiences. Reflecting on how I've been influenced by the experiences of motherhood and then specifically by the personhood of each of my daughters, I wrote this:
Motherhood obliterates you
Then stitches you back together
You're still you, technically
But everything is in a slightly different place
This little creature has destroyed you
and made you infinitely better
You've never been so vulnerable,
this extension of you out in this
big, scary world.
How can you control it all,
keep them safe, help them grow?
You've never been so big, so bold
Fierce to the death, you speak
when you would have stayed silent
Fight when you would have conformed
On behalf of this bewitching creature
you wouldn't hesitate to go to war
So small, so mighty, these few pounds
of dependent humanity
change every cell in your body.
In love, entranced, you orbit
around them, every sigh, every sneeze
is breath-taking.
Even their shit is cute.
Babies turn hard asses to mush
and pushovers into warriors.
These magical creatures are mesmerizing
They keep you up, soak you in vomit
Those first few months take you to your knees
They shatter you, they heal you,
They take you to the brink of insanity.
Yet in that fog, there is pure,
unadulterated bliss
Every time you breathe in
that spicy scalp or feel their
tiny chest rise and fall against yours
Those tiny toes, their skin that folds
Their sweet, persistent suckle.
The most enchanting drug in the world?
Newborns.
Sunday, March 20, 2016
Can a Care-Taker Learn to Take Care of Herself?
I've just had an epiphany, and it's not something I'm particularly pleased to admit. I consider myself an advocate for others. This spirit of advocacy is innate and I believe, God-given. If you want to hear me rant, ask me about the significance of movements like #blacklivesmatter or my newly-discovered yet completely-true white privilege. Ask me how I feel about homelessness, sex-trafficking and children growing up in this country without access to books. Don't even get me started on the FDA or Monsanto. It's so easy for me to see the need to champion the rights of others. As a black and white thinker, it makes sense that I want to right the wrongs of our unfair world and to give everyone an equal shot at their dreams. But here's the problem: I have a really hard time with self-advocacy, hence the epiphany. Looking back today, I've realized that the times I've faced uncomfortable conflict head on, it's because I believed it would benefit someone else, whether it was the person I was confronting, or on whose behalf I was advocating.
As a caretaker, I've worked hard to let go of the need to do hard things because I am somehow responsible for other peoples decisions. If I confronted someone in the past with great difficulty, I did it because I wanted to protect the next guy from their behavior. But I'm not in charge of their behavior and I do not need to carry responsibility for their future potential infractions just because their current acts have hurt me. (Though I can see how abuse victims following this path are probably making a very understandable mistake). So now that I'm not facing difficult confrontation on behalf of someone else, I'm finding myself hiding from necessary conflict and wallowing in shame as a result. I'm really hurting, guys. And yet, I feel dumb about my big feelings and don't want to have the difficult conversations required to rectify the situation. How incredibly difficult it is to say, "Your behavior, while most likely unintentional, hurt my feelings in a big way and with humility, I ask for your apology because my feelings matter." Agghh!
And yet, I've learned these past few years how incredibly important self-care is. That I deserve love and care as much as anyone else in my family, church and community. That there is no need to apologize for being human, needing space and having needs that require money, time and solitude to meet. And while it's simple enough to drink a cup of tea or serve yourself breakfast first, how hard is it to validate your very real feelings in a difficult situation? (Frankly, I'm being cavalier about the tea and breakfast first, but that was actually really difficult in the beginning). How hard is it to let people love you when you're purposefully exposing "weakness" (big feelings aren't weakness but my shame voice begs to differ) that you just can't seem to rationally contain? This, my friends, is the ultimate self-care act and this care-taker is wrestling, for sure.
As a caretaker, I've worked hard to let go of the need to do hard things because I am somehow responsible for other peoples decisions. If I confronted someone in the past with great difficulty, I did it because I wanted to protect the next guy from their behavior. But I'm not in charge of their behavior and I do not need to carry responsibility for their future potential infractions just because their current acts have hurt me. (Though I can see how abuse victims following this path are probably making a very understandable mistake). So now that I'm not facing difficult confrontation on behalf of someone else, I'm finding myself hiding from necessary conflict and wallowing in shame as a result. I'm really hurting, guys. And yet, I feel dumb about my big feelings and don't want to have the difficult conversations required to rectify the situation. How incredibly difficult it is to say, "Your behavior, while most likely unintentional, hurt my feelings in a big way and with humility, I ask for your apology because my feelings matter." Agghh!
And yet, I've learned these past few years how incredibly important self-care is. That I deserve love and care as much as anyone else in my family, church and community. That there is no need to apologize for being human, needing space and having needs that require money, time and solitude to meet. And while it's simple enough to drink a cup of tea or serve yourself breakfast first, how hard is it to validate your very real feelings in a difficult situation? (Frankly, I'm being cavalier about the tea and breakfast first, but that was actually really difficult in the beginning). How hard is it to let people love you when you're purposefully exposing "weakness" (big feelings aren't weakness but my shame voice begs to differ) that you just can't seem to rationally contain? This, my friends, is the ultimate self-care act and this care-taker is wrestling, for sure.
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
The Night I Cried Doing Downward Dog (No, That's Not a Euphamism)
It's funny sometimes, practicing yoga. It requires you to breathe, to tune in, to sit in the tension you carry and then to release it. It's particularly funny to practice yoga as a caretaking perfectionist in crisis during a holiday week. Tonight I dragged myself to class, with my family limping around without me (everyone's sick but me), barely able to get in the door for being so stiff and terribly undercared for.
I lie down on the mat my beloved teacher set out for me (because I was late). Just curling my legs into my chest, I feel them coming. The music is playing. The lights are dim. Tears. I am so fucking tired. Everyone needs a piece of me. There's not much left tonight. And so the tears come. In this one clumsy, stiff hour, I have so many wounds to bind up. The anxiety of trying to feel better in the one hour I've got juxtaposes with the amazement that I have a whole hour to myself to stretch every muscle that is locked down in tension. Penny is not asking to be held. Dinner has already been made. I am alone with others. My favorite way to recharge.
Going through all the positions, some feel wonderful, others really difficult, the tears slip out, one by one. Hiding under the sheath that is my undone hair, little by little the tears give way to release. Bone-deep, soothing release. Release leads to rest. The rest I long for. The rest I desperately need. The rest I cannot always allow myself in this time of crisis (Tim is still looking for work).
I came home and read my little Cheryl Strayed book of quotes Brave Enough. One of the nuggets of truth that jumped out at me was this, "The particularity of our problems can be made bearable only through the recognition of our universal humanity. We suffer uniquely, but we survive the same way."
Sometimes it's surprisingly hard to be a person. I have so many beautiful people in my life. I've experienced so much grace and mercy when we weren't sure how something would work and it just has. But sometimes you just want to hide in a room alone for a month. Tonight, I had one hour. An hour I moved through with tears. But I came away having done what I needed to do. Exercise, yes. But really, I needed to cry. Don't be afraid to sit in your tears. Perhaps it's the only way to walk back out into the cold and into the fray. And ultimately, to survive.
I lie down on the mat my beloved teacher set out for me (because I was late). Just curling my legs into my chest, I feel them coming. The music is playing. The lights are dim. Tears. I am so fucking tired. Everyone needs a piece of me. There's not much left tonight. And so the tears come. In this one clumsy, stiff hour, I have so many wounds to bind up. The anxiety of trying to feel better in the one hour I've got juxtaposes with the amazement that I have a whole hour to myself to stretch every muscle that is locked down in tension. Penny is not asking to be held. Dinner has already been made. I am alone with others. My favorite way to recharge.
Going through all the positions, some feel wonderful, others really difficult, the tears slip out, one by one. Hiding under the sheath that is my undone hair, little by little the tears give way to release. Bone-deep, soothing release. Release leads to rest. The rest I long for. The rest I desperately need. The rest I cannot always allow myself in this time of crisis (Tim is still looking for work).
I came home and read my little Cheryl Strayed book of quotes Brave Enough. One of the nuggets of truth that jumped out at me was this, "The particularity of our problems can be made bearable only through the recognition of our universal humanity. We suffer uniquely, but we survive the same way."
Sometimes it's surprisingly hard to be a person. I have so many beautiful people in my life. I've experienced so much grace and mercy when we weren't sure how something would work and it just has. But sometimes you just want to hide in a room alone for a month. Tonight, I had one hour. An hour I moved through with tears. But I came away having done what I needed to do. Exercise, yes. But really, I needed to cry. Don't be afraid to sit in your tears. Perhaps it's the only way to walk back out into the cold and into the fray. And ultimately, to survive.
Saturday, October 10, 2015
The Week My Husband Lost His Job & I Called Security on My Kid
It's been quite a week. I don't really intend to talk about Tim's job loss today, but I put it in the title to give context to the whole calling security thing. A lot of my thoughts have come back to, "I don't need this right now." This is not a typical thought for me, but it has applied several times in the last few days.
I never stole anything as a child (typical) but Tim did and he paid dearly for it. When Macy took something from Dollar Tree last year, I gasped so loud I scared her. She had to march right back in and return it. But today, my mommy radar was up when we were in a consignment shop. She had her eye on these hair clips and when I went back to get the one we'd picked, it wasn't there. I suspected that she had stashed it somewhere, but didn't want to show her that I doubted her integrity. I really do believe the best in people and was hoping I was wrong. When we got home from the mall, I found the clip when I started to clean out the car.
So, back to the mall we went (exhausted) where she had to return both the clip we bought and the one she stole. Tim had called the shop on the way and explained the situation so the security guard was ready and waiting. Macy and I had discussed the possibility that he would be there and the walk to the shop was nerve-wracking. She was scared she was going to get yelled at or punished. She was worried she wouldn't get any Christmas presents from Santa because she had been bad. I reminded her that she has made a lot of good choices this year, that she can't change what she did but she can try to make things right and do better next time. I assured her that I loved her but that she had done something wrong and needed to face the consequences of her actions. When she had to explain what she'd done to the shop owner, her voice broke and her eyes welled up with tears. The security guard explained that if she was older, she would have been banned from the mall for one year.
After we were done in the store, we left the mall. Macy was over-acting like she was happy and I was kind of annoyed by it. I was tired and had made a second trip to the mall in rainboots of all things. Shouldn't she still be crying? Why wasn't her tail between her legs? And then she said, "I just want to feel happy again." And so hand-in-hand, we danced through the parking lot.
The desire to feel happy when you've had a shitty day really resonates with me. It's part of being human. When you overdraw your checking account, you're just wanting to escape the realities of your tight budget for a little while. And so you have some fun, and then your stomach drops when you see the negative balance. Reality comes crashing down and you have to figure out what to do. And when you make a plan and figure it out, you feel relief. You feel hope. It doesn't make the consequences go away, but in taking responsibilitiy, the shame evaporates and you feel free to face another moment, another day, another month.
Macy reminded me of this tonight. That it's okay to dance through the rain after having a stern talk with the mall security guard. Life is hard sometimes. She wanted to feel good. She wanted to be in control. She wanted to get away with something for once. I totally get it. I'm learning to have grace for myself as a human being (shedding the baggage of trying to be perfect, better, a leader, a light, an example...hello, ministry baggage!) This, of course, has to inform my parenting. I can't be trying to practice self-love and then not extend that to my child. Her human moment was my human moment. And I am so proud of her. Grace is accepting the consequences and then releasing them to the wind. And if that means making a fool of yourself in a crowded mall parking lot, so be it.
I never stole anything as a child (typical) but Tim did and he paid dearly for it. When Macy took something from Dollar Tree last year, I gasped so loud I scared her. She had to march right back in and return it. But today, my mommy radar was up when we were in a consignment shop. She had her eye on these hair clips and when I went back to get the one we'd picked, it wasn't there. I suspected that she had stashed it somewhere, but didn't want to show her that I doubted her integrity. I really do believe the best in people and was hoping I was wrong. When we got home from the mall, I found the clip when I started to clean out the car.
So, back to the mall we went (exhausted) where she had to return both the clip we bought and the one she stole. Tim had called the shop on the way and explained the situation so the security guard was ready and waiting. Macy and I had discussed the possibility that he would be there and the walk to the shop was nerve-wracking. She was scared she was going to get yelled at or punished. She was worried she wouldn't get any Christmas presents from Santa because she had been bad. I reminded her that she has made a lot of good choices this year, that she can't change what she did but she can try to make things right and do better next time. I assured her that I loved her but that she had done something wrong and needed to face the consequences of her actions. When she had to explain what she'd done to the shop owner, her voice broke and her eyes welled up with tears. The security guard explained that if she was older, she would have been banned from the mall for one year.
After we were done in the store, we left the mall. Macy was over-acting like she was happy and I was kind of annoyed by it. I was tired and had made a second trip to the mall in rainboots of all things. Shouldn't she still be crying? Why wasn't her tail between her legs? And then she said, "I just want to feel happy again." And so hand-in-hand, we danced through the parking lot.
The desire to feel happy when you've had a shitty day really resonates with me. It's part of being human. When you overdraw your checking account, you're just wanting to escape the realities of your tight budget for a little while. And so you have some fun, and then your stomach drops when you see the negative balance. Reality comes crashing down and you have to figure out what to do. And when you make a plan and figure it out, you feel relief. You feel hope. It doesn't make the consequences go away, but in taking responsibilitiy, the shame evaporates and you feel free to face another moment, another day, another month.
Macy reminded me of this tonight. That it's okay to dance through the rain after having a stern talk with the mall security guard. Life is hard sometimes. She wanted to feel good. She wanted to be in control. She wanted to get away with something for once. I totally get it. I'm learning to have grace for myself as a human being (shedding the baggage of trying to be perfect, better, a leader, a light, an example...hello, ministry baggage!) This, of course, has to inform my parenting. I can't be trying to practice self-love and then not extend that to my child. Her human moment was my human moment. And I am so proud of her. Grace is accepting the consequences and then releasing them to the wind. And if that means making a fool of yourself in a crowded mall parking lot, so be it.
Monday, August 17, 2015
Focusing on the Good
I just got back from my first real trip away from Penny. It was a challenge for a lot of reasons. On my trip, I was surrounded by happy and positive people. Being in that environment made me very aware of just how dark my thoughts had become in comparison. Overal, I'm a very resilient person. It takes a lot of wearing down over an extended period of time for me to go a dark place. And even in dark times, my head tends to be a pretty positive place for the most part.
But I realized that I was telling myself negative things about my life, my potential and the future. I don't want to place the blame on anyone and at the same time, I think this is partially a result of living with someone who has mental health issues they're working through and being a care-taker who's very sensitive to her emotional environment.
In an attempt to get back my happiness mojo, among many things, I bought a tiny book at the airport called, "A Good Book for a Bad Day." It's full of cool quotes from famous people. Many of them struck me and I thought it could be a cool little blog series to share each one over time. So, in the spirit of seeing the glass as half-full, here's my first quote:
"When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace." - Jimi Hendrix
I love this! I've never been particularly interested in power (except over myself) but I definitely see power as a hindrance to peace. One of the major reasons I find election time to be so draining is the constant one-upping vying for power and the name-calling and judgement that comes along with it. I would love to see us pursue love as what we strive to bring into the world rather than looking to see what we can get out of it. Peace is something we all have a stake in (literal peace, meaning without violence, as well as internal peace) and that is only going to come if we allow ourselves to release control and embrace love.
But I realized that I was telling myself negative things about my life, my potential and the future. I don't want to place the blame on anyone and at the same time, I think this is partially a result of living with someone who has mental health issues they're working through and being a care-taker who's very sensitive to her emotional environment.
In an attempt to get back my happiness mojo, among many things, I bought a tiny book at the airport called, "A Good Book for a Bad Day." It's full of cool quotes from famous people. Many of them struck me and I thought it could be a cool little blog series to share each one over time. So, in the spirit of seeing the glass as half-full, here's my first quote:
"When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace." - Jimi Hendrix
I love this! I've never been particularly interested in power (except over myself) but I definitely see power as a hindrance to peace. One of the major reasons I find election time to be so draining is the constant one-upping vying for power and the name-calling and judgement that comes along with it. I would love to see us pursue love as what we strive to bring into the world rather than looking to see what we can get out of it. Peace is something we all have a stake in (literal peace, meaning without violence, as well as internal peace) and that is only going to come if we allow ourselves to release control and embrace love.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
You Never Left
Like most people, I've changed a lot over the years. I've lived in different countries. I've traveled quite a bit. I've been privileged to participate in many beautiful relationships with people who may or may not still be in my life. I've done professional ministry in a multitude of settings, which can be very intense and bonding. As a sentimental person, I've often missed stages of my life or versions of myself that I feel like I can no longer access as the time passes. For a long time I idolized my high school faith. No one was more devout than 1995-1999 Kristy Nystrom.
It can be easy to compare your life now to what it used to be and to come up wanting for whatever reason. Even more so, I think I tend to compare my current self to my younger self and sometimes feel that my maturing process has at times, looked more like a slow slide into "less than." Yes, this is perfectionism in its finest. I see this often in my girlfriends body image. It's easy after having a few kids, to feel like your "maturing process" is not yielding the results you want.
This morning, I woke up at 5:30 to go to yoga. For those of you that don't know, I did yoga regularly during both of my pregnancies and found it to be very helpful, but have not maintained any regular exercise since I became a mother the second time. I'm busier and our family was in such crisis with the post-partum depression for so long that exercise felt like an "extra."
But I went back to yoga last week and came home feeling amazing. So, here I was getting up at the crack of dawn after an incredibly busy day celebrating Tim's birthday, wondering was this really a good idea? How am I going to handle the kids all day when I only got 6 hours of sleep (that is way too few in the Sibley house)? On my way to class, I saw the most gorgeous sunrise. Just a bright orange orb in my rear-view mirror and I knew it was a good idea.
As we were going through the poses, my teacher came around, put essential oil on my forehead, checked my alignment and graced me with this phrase, "You never left." Tears welled up in my eyes as the blessing of her comment washed over me. I never left. Yes, I haven't been there in 2 years. And my life has changed dramatically in that time. Possibly the most accelerated personal and family growth of any 2 years of my life. Trauma has a way of intensifying everything. And yet, my body knew what to do, my heart was open to the work and my spirit was at rest.
Yes, we go through change. Sure, the maturing process can be painful and make us reminisce about days with simplicity and fewer responsibilities. But ultimately, in those moments where you check in with who you are and how you feel about yourself, you never really left. No one can take away from you anything about your life or yourself. Of course, most things in life are temporary. And loss slips through our fingers like sand, often unexpectedly. But there is a stability in us, a permanence that is refined by life but cannot be stolen. In trauma, it feels otherwise, but on the other side of it, I can honestly say, I'm still here.
It can be easy to compare your life now to what it used to be and to come up wanting for whatever reason. Even more so, I think I tend to compare my current self to my younger self and sometimes feel that my maturing process has at times, looked more like a slow slide into "less than." Yes, this is perfectionism in its finest. I see this often in my girlfriends body image. It's easy after having a few kids, to feel like your "maturing process" is not yielding the results you want.
This morning, I woke up at 5:30 to go to yoga. For those of you that don't know, I did yoga regularly during both of my pregnancies and found it to be very helpful, but have not maintained any regular exercise since I became a mother the second time. I'm busier and our family was in such crisis with the post-partum depression for so long that exercise felt like an "extra."
But I went back to yoga last week and came home feeling amazing. So, here I was getting up at the crack of dawn after an incredibly busy day celebrating Tim's birthday, wondering was this really a good idea? How am I going to handle the kids all day when I only got 6 hours of sleep (that is way too few in the Sibley house)? On my way to class, I saw the most gorgeous sunrise. Just a bright orange orb in my rear-view mirror and I knew it was a good idea.
As we were going through the poses, my teacher came around, put essential oil on my forehead, checked my alignment and graced me with this phrase, "You never left." Tears welled up in my eyes as the blessing of her comment washed over me. I never left. Yes, I haven't been there in 2 years. And my life has changed dramatically in that time. Possibly the most accelerated personal and family growth of any 2 years of my life. Trauma has a way of intensifying everything. And yet, my body knew what to do, my heart was open to the work and my spirit was at rest.
Yes, we go through change. Sure, the maturing process can be painful and make us reminisce about days with simplicity and fewer responsibilities. But ultimately, in those moments where you check in with who you are and how you feel about yourself, you never really left. No one can take away from you anything about your life or yourself. Of course, most things in life are temporary. And loss slips through our fingers like sand, often unexpectedly. But there is a stability in us, a permanence that is refined by life but cannot be stolen. In trauma, it feels otherwise, but on the other side of it, I can honestly say, I'm still here.
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