proof

Last week, with Squirt at my parents' for four days, I spent a lot of time online. I was hanging out on FaceBook, posting and commenting away, and I had some nice - almost conversations there - from inside my own space, my own life. And instead of being uncomfortable, or even angry - for wasting time when I could have [...], I took a long hard look at what I'd been sharing, and found myself happy! I've been on the other end of the spectrum more often, and for longer than I care to ponder right now, so there was a sense of wonder at finding myself... okay!

Of course, spending time online means you're not consciously breathing, feeling your feet, being present in your life, exactly. I know that. It's all by comparison, even if you're not actively comparing yourself. I was looking at my life in a mirror, and it reflected back to me how I was sharing my life, what I was sharing, perhaps even how I was selling myself. But I wasn't. I was actually sticking with me. I was posting about what made me happy, what made sense, what was good inside my day. Maybe I wasn't inside my life down to my toes, digging in, growing roots; but I was standing tall with my life.

I think I've quietly stumbled upon the why of my need to document Summer! It's a way of being aware. Maybe not always exactly in the moment, but it's a good start. Being aware of the fact that there is joy, and happy, and beauty - finding out where I see it, what catches my eye - what do I draw, what do I photograph? - the journey through my days...

I love and appreciate and see the need to feel my feet, to breathe slowly in & out, to be where I am, but it's not enough. That - doing that - being present? It helps to combat the fear of being present, and I need that, solidly! But I'm also on a journey to find treasure in my life - to document and take it out of the moment, to fill my travel pack, my water bottle.

And it's not to hold on to moments - although I don't think there is necessarily something wrong with holding on to memories, as long as life doesn't become all about yesterday - it's about documenting, or maybe even more accurately, about mining my life. To find soul where I travelled. To learn about where it hides, on a deeply personal level, inside my life!

Because - and I deeply appreciate how this falls into place and guidance emerges - what I've written and cried about so many times is - I've never known where to look, where to find something, anything to help me claw out of that dank pit I fall into when I do (it's quite too early to say 'used to', but here's to hope, nonetheless!). I don't know where my happy really lives, and that's the sad truth.

And I'm not there yet, I haven't found the well - but that's okay, because this is fun :) I'm catching glimpses by looking at what I've gathered in my Summer 2013 file, so far! Glimpses, not storylines - nothing set in stone, trapped by cement, unmovable, fixed. Because it's impossible to recreate a happy moment, trying only dispells the magic and adds frustration and sadness to the mix. But I can find a similar colour, hear a sound, catch the light, indulge in sweet, salty, sour tastes, reflect in droplets, kiss a flower, or find that coffee at the exact right time!

I'm going from moment to moment right now, and it's... pretty :) I relish, revel, remember and rock - but I'm also collecting treasures & imagining a map. I'm looking for what makes me curious, for what makes me smile - I'm looking for what I'll know when I feel where it is :) That's what I'm after - but quietly, furtively almost, because these are secrets and surprises. Here is no place for brute force or overthinking. These things will reveal themselves to me, over patience and time. I won't have to wait for them - I can draw and photograph and capture beyond words. It will further unfold with life and time. It's elegant in its simplicity and imperfection - who knew? - and it's all as much here as ahead!

I realise this means that - apparently - I need proof. Proof of being well, being okay, being enough. But being who I am, knowing where I was, it's exactly right, like that. There is victory in the realisation that there is much to document as proof of being well :) I've conquered ground, I've kicked and left behind hurdles I never even knew were in my way - and I'm... taller for it all. & if I need proof for a while, before knowing, finding, seeing becomes second nature? If I need any permission, for any of this? Here it is:

You GO, sweet pea! To your heart's content! Gather clues and document! Find out what makes your mouth water and give IN! Find out what makes you smile and get some MORE! Be wild, mudane, Fabulous and boring! Find yourself there - exactly where you are & draw it - take a photo, sing a song - do whatever it takes to find it and bring it home!

This is for you, too. Permission! To do what needs doing & document. Or not! Whatever you need to kick a home-made rule or two to the curb & hang out with what makes you tick! Go! Go tick! I'll be here, waiting to hear where you took yourself today :)

solid

So I didn't take a nosedive. Which is as awesome as it is... disconcerting! Because here I was, all prepared to - uhm, nosedive into my usual shut-down-mode, which is where I generally find myself when chaotic happenings end (the need to take apart and rebuild everything I already knew) - but then I didn't. Which leaves me strangely at a loss when it comes to words. I'm in a good place - not Fabulous, but good, and it's unfamiliar. But if I wait untill I've got the words to bend with the road I'm on, this blog will gather dust. I promised myself it wouldn't, and yet it has been empty here for the past two weeks. I started to write and then I stopped. Drafts waiting for - clarity. Or the recycling bin. I'm not sure. Not sure of much at the moment, but - again - in an unfamiliarly good sense :) Things are cooking, but not boiled down. So here are some drawings that came out over the past couple of weeks.

Squirt's bikes. Which seemed like a great subject to draw - lots of lines and technical what-nots to fight with, as well as a good example of the theme I'd thought up for myself: growing. Yes. And then I found myself quite sad ;)

And then there's that. It wasn't immediately inspired by my kid undeniably growing, but it's a part of the whole story anyway, of course. It's something I fight with, still, at times. Not all the time, but it comes up. And right now, strange as it may sound, it feels like a solid thing to come up. Not something that will push me over any kind of edges, not something I'm making harder for myself, but something that is - understood to be hard. I don't know if that makes any kind of sense to anyone but me, but hanging out in a space where I'm actually okay, this is - alright to feel something about...

I don't feel like I'm on my toes. Of course I'm vigilant - I find myself in a strange field of wildflowers, and while I'm enjoying the scenery, and sniffing the air, I know I'm me and I'm vulnerable. But I'm dealing with things, as they come up, and so far?

I'm squeezing just fine :)

Hope you're fine, too. Hope whatever is on your plate is just enough to hang out with, on the sane side of things. 

Here's to whatever lays ahead & facing up! I'll be back... :)

everybody

It's blustery outside today. Storm, sunlit, with the fresh feel of Spring on its tail. The type of day that could blow the cobwebs out of your head if you'd just open up wide enough. Hope, and doable like scraps of paper, blown out of reach, but there, to see - and some days, that helps.

I've got no idea how to get started. It's been so long since I sat down and took myself seriously enough to be here. I've been rattling around in a life that seems too big for me for way too long now. I used to fill that space! I even overflowed it, on really good days!

I want to explain, I want to make sense of it - I want to get over it and get out! Part of me is screaming IT'S TOO SOON - YOU'RE STILL WAY TOO CLUELESS - TOO MANY LOOSE ENDS TO MAKE SENSE OF THIS!! And part of me, the quiet part, the little girl, she knows it's time. She knows I need to open up. She knows that this pain feeds on quiet - because it gets to be the only voice inside my head, keeping me in check. She knows the last bits of clean & sane know-this-about-me will mould without light. She knows I need air and wind and being naked. Yes. She's wise. And she's still there, so there's hope. (there's always hope, she says to me. she never tires of repeating herself when I'm off and deaf. she's plugged in, she sees these things much clearer than I do...)

I want to be poetic about it all - make it beautiful where it really stinks, but she tells me not to worry about how it sounds; and once again, she's right. Worrying about how it all sounds is what gets me here in the first place. It locks the door on me. It cuts me off from my gut, and from sanity, to put it dramatically, and that's always the beginning of the end.

This crap loops all through my life. I'd really love to say I'm getting better at handling it, but I'm not - not visibly, not obviously. And the time to get angry about that isn't - now. It's never. It isn't about getting angry, frustrated at what I'm doing to myself, although it always seems that way for the longest time; just kick your own butt, honey! that's all you need - a good whoopin' and you'll be right as rain. If you'd just get in gear and fit in, you'll be dandy and the world is right!

I'm scared of sounding too dramatic. I'm dead scared of being misunderstood. I'm scared of feeling like the only one who gets like this! I'm scared to throw myself out here, naked again. Really, really scared! But I need to. Because all this starts with feeling like I don't fit in, like I'm not good enough, like I'll never get it right - oh yes, elusive it, indeed! - and my first answer always is, to pull out. And I'm starting to think - okay, the little girl inside told me - that I'll never find glu for repair if I don't come out and show myself again.

Basically, it's really simple. Undone of pretty and sliced open, I was raised by a mother who Knows. I'm not here to vilify my mother. It doesn't help. Lessons learned are lessons learned, and in the end, the only thing that really counts is - how you learn to make up for it - how you learn to cope. I'm not here to excuse her, either, but I do know she wasn't out to get me. She meant well. She was - and is - just never flexible enough to realise that I needed to be right, at times, too. Because what I'm left with now is a broken compass. And way too much stock in what a fabled crowd of Other People think.

What I grew up with is this warped blueprint of how the world works: you do things right, you're good. You do things wrong, and this includes all versions of not-quite-right, you're no good, really. There is no manual for Good. There is no manual for Wrong either, but you catch on pretty quickly. You can gather it from a look, a word, a nod. There's a lot of disappointment involved, and you learn to apologise, because it's the quickest way to get on with things. And if you apologise this much, there must be something wrong with you to start with. That gets ingrained. Deeply. That feeling lasts. You hear 'I didn't say anything!', but you know that look and you don't need the words anymore. You weigh looks and gestures and you know. (have you ever considered you interpret too much? she asks, and yes I have. I have with hindsight. I know NOW. and it isn't necessarily too late to change - to learn to ask, but it's so hard to stop the damage mid-sentence, because I'm afraid I'll hear I was right; I'm wrong, and I really don't want to hear the words out loud...)

If I were asked to describe my way in this world, I'd go with tentative vulnerabilty. There is a lot I don't know. I know we all come from different families, different biographies, different circumstances - not to mention cultures, so I don't feel equipped to weigh and judge. And I don't want to weigh and judge. I like the surprise and the sense of wonder. I like making things up as I go along. I don't like carving things in stone, not being able to revisit, to re-examine, to try a different angle. I like to think, to analyse, and I like to brainstorm, to toss things into the air and see how they land. I don't know what was there first - finding a way to cope with being wrong pretty much anyway, or an innate curiosity, but this is what I'm left with. I'm tentative, I'm vulnerable, and I don't really know. I'm vulnerable because I talk about not knowing. I talk about not being sure. I talk about being wrong, re-assessing, trying again - I talk about that all the time. I talk about how hard life is at times, and how I don't know what to do to make sense, spin meaning, and I always hope for 'me, too!'

But I have quite a few People who Know in my life. People who are Sure. About a lot of things. They're sure about their parenting decisions, about what they'll eat tonight. About their politics, the colour of their underwear, their hobbies and how much time spent on those is reasonable. They're sure about their talents, their skills and their abilities. They know how to measure up, and how not to stand out in a crowd. They're awesome, they're good.

These are good, solid people, and I'm not here to vilify them, either. I know no one is that sure. I know that at least part of it is what I hear them say - because I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, to be wrong, as I expect to be, at the bottom of things - and in part it's a - cultural thing? A contemporary thing? That we need to be seen to be sure? To show the world we know what we're doing? To have and hold opinions like they're our armour against change? I'm not sure (haha), all I know is, me and my open vulnerability, my lay-it-on-the-table attitude - when my solid ground starts sloping - I'm no match for their Knowledge.

I'm vulnerable because I expect to be wrong. And because I don't have a lot of worthiness in my back pocket on the best of days, let alone the slippery sloping days. I wasn't taught to carry myself, I was taught to - whatever you do, get it right. Without a compass. I don't have goals to fall back on when things start coming apart - meaningful stuff that will drag me out and up and into the light, because what I swallowed all those years ago was - life isn't about meaning, it's about not putting your foot wrong. It's about doing what's expected & about Knowing - being sure. I grew up thinking People Know. Hoping one day, I'd Know, too. Because Everybody Knows. Only really sad, silly, broken people - flawed, faulty, incomplete people don't know.

Some days - more and more days, longer stretches, it's important to remind myself of that! - when it's me and my gut and my brushes and my je ne sais quoi, and things are in place - I'm soaring with the best of them. I don't give a rat's ass about Knowing - knowing that I already do know on an instinctive, intuitive level that I'm alright, I'm okay, flying with my warts and who'll stop me?! But my gut gets clogged. It invariably does. Because I'm not necessarily heading somewhere - shouldn't I be headed somewhere - and shouldn't I Know?! As soon as I try to control being okay - hell, being Fabulous! - as soon as I try to tentatively, vulnerably explain it - as soon as I look up to make sure People see that I'm doing alright...

... that's when I see those looks, those gestures again. That's when I hear People telling me what to do, how they Know, how they got it covered, how their ducks are in a row. These People do a lot of their talking in my head. I talk for them. Inner mean chick does. She knows the drill. She knows when I'm ready to listen, and she takes no prisoners. She dresses like Everybody and digs in. I lose faith in myself and my gut, like I've always done in the face of Everybody, and I literally, physically pull back from the world. I stop seeing friends, stop answering emails, stop drawing, stop hanging out on Facebook, stop reading how everyone seems to have got it all figured out, and I don't want to hear about it either. I lock myself in with the one person who can make it all even worse: me.

For the past two months - give or take - I've been tearing strips off myself, reducing me to something not quite fit to feed a stray dog. All while fighting it, of course. It's been a war zone here - fighting myself for fighting myself for fighting myself. I've been playing footy with irritable bowel syndrome too, for the first time in my life - which is less than helpful when you're trying to trust your gut - but it's told me some truths by joining the party.

When you try to find your gut, your intuition, your I-know-a-few-things-about-me? Don't adjourn into your head. It's what I've always done - that's where the austere room lives in the world - but for the first time ever, I got feedback! It didn't help, and it still doesn't help just to know, but it's a serious clue about how to get out! And clues are good!

There are huge, gaping holes in this story. There are the things I don't know, things I'm not sure how to add up, things I don't want to drag up again, some good juicy examples of things that were said, and a good stack of things that would make this a book, as opposed to a long-winded blog post. One of the biggest holes is probably - why don't I throw everything at fitting in, if it matters that much?! All I can offer is - I think I tried that. Way back when. And it didn't work. I didn't get it. I didn't know what I was supposed to do, or what getting it right was meant to feel like - so I gave up. I think I decided at some point that it's - easier to come in from left-field, the element of surprise and all that - than to try and come in all dressed up, facing disappointment and a need to apologise. At least this way I could always claim they just didn't get it - even if it never really helped for long. Same fight, different coat - but it's how I 'coped' and I can't go back. At the bottom of the whole thing, it's always been about fighting the unfightable. Fighting myself for my sanity. Because it's about what I believe about myself, in the end, now that I'm all grown up. I'm not entirely clueless anymore, but I don't know everything. Ah. Elusive. I'm just not Know Everything-material. My personality can't handle it, my gut knows, but my head is stuck in the sand, ostrich-style. Or something. Holes, huh?

What I do know for sure, is that it's time to go out into the world again. Naked. Tentatively vulnerable with all I've got. And my brushes. I actually know at the bottom of all this - it's okay. I'm alright. I know more than enough. And the only way I can prove it to myself is if I go out in this raging storm out there and stay upright. One street corner at a time.

Do I like my personality? Do I want to change? Is it comfortable, not-knowing, and is there some sort of comfort in the falling, too? Some peace in knowing the enemy? I don't know. I'm forever much too close to this whole thing to claim clarity. What I do think is - I should get me one of those fabled Tribes, a gathering of Soul Sisters to keep me honest and on the straight-but-not-narrow - a new and improved Everybody to hear in my head and change my life! I LOVE reading about those, come across them all the time - great idea, too! Just one question: where do you get one?!

My story isn't all that unique. I don't come from unimaginably terrible things - I just live with a lot of harsh glaring lights and struggle, at times. So why do I get naked and share, anyway? Because I've been really lost, and really lonely lately. It helps, to write it down. It sort of feels like a fresh start, an opening to slip through - or the promise of one, at the very least.

And because I want to tell you - because we all need to hear it at times - 'oh yes, I get that. Me, too, sweetie. Me, too.' You don't have to say it, if you don't want to. I just want you to know you're not alone!

elemental

No. It isn't metal, although it definitely tastes like it.

It's earth, speaking Chinese.

It's spleen.

It's worrying.

It's stuck in overanalysing minor details.

Apparently, I need to sing and be open.

Yeah.

sensitive

I'm still upside-down. Picasso-esque. And I still think I see light ahead. But I haven't exited the tumbleweed tunnel quite yet. I'm vulnerable, still. 

Mostly, when I get here, my intention is to get things straight for myself, in the first place. Writing it down, as if trying to explain it to someone else, it helps. A lot. I gain clarity and insight from pouring the chaos in my head into a story line - knit beginning, middle and ending to what unwritten remains - mayhem. And I really, really appreciate the comments - more than you'll know.

But I don't have the courage nor the head space to write a blog post today. A huge part of this half of my personality - yes, dramatic; the shoe fits - wants to turn on the apologetics. She wants to blog about fluffy clouds. Not blog about that, per se, but be about that. While I know I ain't about fluffy clouds even on good days. When I know deep-down that I wouldn't want to be about fluffy clouds, especially on good days. But that's the extend of it right now. This is where I was, this is where I still am, and whether I kick and scream or fight it, this is what I have to wait out - whether I want to (I don't), or not.

But enough. I don't have the words to make more sense of this than I did before, so I won't try. I'm here, because I want to share something that almost made me cry this morning. And maybe when you read this, it might help you too. I hope it will. It makes sense to me, and I know I'm not the only one who gets like this. It sounds wrong, but it helps me, to know that. To know that you know what I mean when I hang out, when I feel tied up where I'm not. 

I'm reading a book. And it's eye-opening. I'm not big on labels and conditions, but I want to get a grip on this crap. Desperately. So while the title of this book put me off for the longest time, eventhough a very trusted close friend recommended it to me, I finally dove in. And it's - just so true. It's hard work to get deep with it, and I'm not getting that exactly right, quite yet, but when it comes to naming the feelings I've lived with for so long, when things get bad and when I'm on an almost unnatural high - it's spot-on, and I feel so... understood!

The book is The Highly Sensitive Person, by Elaine Aron, and while I'm not ready, at all, to bend it to words for myself, let alone here, I really want to share this (in my edition, soft cover, Element, HarperCollins, 2003, it's on page 62-63). It's sort of a - note to self from the inner child. And it's precious. If you're anything like me, it might touch you, too... 

1. Please don’t make me handle more than I can. I am helpless when you do this, and I hurt all over. Please, please, protect me.

2. I was born this way and can’t change. I know you sometimes think something awful must have made me this way, or at least made me 'worse', but that ought to give you even more sympathy for me. Because either way I can’t help it. Either way, don’t blame me for how I am.

3. What I am is wonderful - I let you sense and feel so much more deeply. I am really one of the best things about you.

4. Check in on me often and take care of me right at that moment if you possibly can. Then, when you can’t, I can trust that you are at least trying and I won’t have long to wait.

5. If you must make me wait for my rest, please ask me nicely if it’s okay. I’m only more miserable and troublesome if you get angry and try to force me.

6. Don’t listen to all the people who say you spoil me. You know me. You decide. Yes, sometimes I might do better left alone to cry myself to sleep. But trust your intuition. Sometimes you know I am too upset to be left alone. I do need a pretty attentive, regular routine. But I’m not easily spoiled.

7. When I’m exhausted, I need sleep. Even when I seem totally wide awake. A regular schedule and a calm routine before bed are important to me. Otherwise, I will lie awake in bed all stirred up for hours. I need a lot of time in bed, even if I’m lying awake. I may need it in the middle of the day, too. Please let me have it.

8. Get to know me better. For example, noisy restaurants seem silly to me - how can anybody eat in them? I have a lot of feelings about such things.

9. Keep my toys simple and my life uncomplicated. Don’t take me to more than one party in a week.

10. I might get used to anything in time, but I don’t do well with a lot of sudden change. Please plan for that, even if the others with you can take it and you don’t want to be a drag. Let me go slow.

11. But I don’t want you to coddle me. I especially don’t want you to think of me as sick or weak. I’m wonderfully clever and strong, in my way. I certainly don’t want you hovering over me, worried about me all day. Or making a lot of excuses for me. I don’t want to be seen as a nuisance, to you or to others. Above all, I count on you, the grown-up, to figure out how to do all of this.

12. Please don’t ignore me. Love me!

13. And like me. As I am.

Chicken soup for my troubled soul. Wise, wise words. Will you let me know if they touch you, too?

waiting

Curves, right? I love curves! I love soft, glowing, stretching! Colourful curves! My own feminine curves - sure, why not?! & I'll take Ireland - rolling and green. But my mind is more like a Picasso at his most cubist - upside down & all. Yes, I've got a flair for the dramatic - working on it - and as far as metaphors go, this one is a stretch, even for me ;) But I travel rugged terrain at times, & I get lost.

When I wrote about waiting for the next curve, for life to veer back to me, that's true. I don't mean I stop everything, get a nanny, a cook & a cleaner and find a quiet spot to suspend - I know full well that I need to be available for the curve. Whether the curve finds me, or I find the curve, it happens inside my life; not on a mountain top or in an attic room. I have suspended myself for about 10 years, so I know this. When you hide from life, Fabulous can't find you. I'm living proof - to myself if to no one else - that you can untie yourself, finally, eventually. But it's a ridiculous effort, and it costs, and I don't want to do it again.

But I do wait. While life goes on. I don't wait for wisdom, or insight - I know by now the truest stuff clatters onto your life path when it bloody well feels like it - much like Fabulous, quite unbidden. And it falls inside your life. It doesn't come haloed, with a free retreat (yes! The rolling green hills of Ireland, please!) to practise welcoming it, unwrapping your own version of picture-perfect upon returning home. No. It comes and you leave it where it fell - almost unseen because it doesn't fit quite yet - or you pick it up, take it in and try to wrap yourself around it - all while ironing an evening meal onto the cleaned table. High heels optional.

But still, I wait. While life goes on, because I've got an awesome 4-year-old who doesn't wait, for no man, nor his mamma. And I'm so, so grateful for that kid, because I can't adjourn myself. And he makes me laugh out loud of course, and he makes me angry, and he makes me feel clueless and fun and he makes me want to throw my hands up in despair, and he makes me feel alive! I'm living lives in my days, and although this isn't about the boy, and he's got no responsibility to keep me sane, he does, inadvertently. And he rocks. Because and solidly despite.

But I'm waiting, nonetheless. While I live, care, draw, do laundry and talk to fellow moms at the school gates, about nothing in particular. I wait for zest and juicy to come back. Yes. I know. Curves. I know life isn't all awesome and Flow and Fabulous. I spent enough time observing life from a lay-by to know that the fast lane kills. But somehow, and I haven't figured out the why or the how quite yet, I never dip to cruising speed; my engine splutters and I swerve! Not quite into oncoming traffic - not much, not always, anyway - but it feels like I'm going the wrong way all of a sudden. Like nothing makes sense anymore. Like an alien inside my own skin, inside my own daily, unchanged life. Like I said, my moods, my je ne sais quoi? I curve Picasso-esque! When Fabulous leaves, comfort leaves in her wake. Is that crazy? Pathology, anyone? Wait! Don't answer that ;) This is my life, wonky as it gets at times, and the skipping little girl-part of me doesn't want to know, she just wants to learn to deal!

So I wait and wear daily routine as a life vest of sorts. Holding on to what I know matters, even if I can't feel it then and there. Going through the motions. Trying to stay afloat while mild to moderate panic and despair wash over me, and nothing feels quite good enough to keep me grounded where I know I live. I can't pinpoint where it starts, or why - eventhough I think I know at times. In the end, it feels like everything. Like I lose the healthy filters between me and my world and everything washes over me. I feel defenseless - I don't know what's important anymore, so everything becomes weighty and serious. While I still deep-down know I don't need to quit or give up on anything I'm learning to embrace as solidly me and beautiful, I can't touch that knowledge and it takes most of my energy not to let go, to wash out; change my skin and start over again, being who I'm not - apologise.

This cycle is familiar. I'm just starting to recognise it, but the truth of it feels old, well-worn. Like it's always been like this. Not Fabulous, she's still quite new - she introduced herself when I emerged from where I wasn't. But how I lose my rhythm, my song, how I disappear - even now that I'm generally - really - quite comfortable inside my skin and my life? Old, old fabric, right there... From Fabulous into hiding. Never past go to collect salary or a soft pillow to land. Straight into that austere place where I can't quite grasp where or why I matter anymore. Until it passes. Because it does. An unmarked doorway, unobtrusive - corner-of-the-eye stuff, never there when you look for it? I don't know. Hindsight, looking back, I can never see how I came to that place nor how I left there. It just - unhappens. It dissolves. So yes. I wait until it does.

So I know this, about myself. I disappear. I go where I need to go, but I can't go out of my way. I've known this for a long time, and I have a grudging understanding for it - for no other reason than the fact that it comes and it hangs out, regardless. But I'm not okay with it. I can't stand shapeless things! Of course I've always poked and prodded, tried to turn it inside-out. Because it bites me where I'm trying to be soft! It feels like everything I've learned about being me, everything I'm learning to accept, to laugh about, to respect or to cuddle, suddenly becomes moot. Ridiculous, weird in a faulty, flawed way, all over again - until it isn't anymore. Until I'm back, re-hinged, oiled & in working order. Just like that. Everything that gained weight till it mattered becomes ridiculous in turn and I'm made to look like a fool in my own eyes till I smile, grin, laugh out loud and shrug.

I'm waiting my way up and out right now, and I think I see light ahead. About time, because I've been here for weeks. I'm reporting from the inside, and it's hard. I've been writing and rewriting this for days. But it's important. It feels important. To remember this when it takes flight again  - the whole thing, as it is, not the snippets in my journal; those just reflect the quality of frustration, yellowing before the ink is dry.

This is a wart. A big one. One that's been colouring my life for as long as I can remember - now that I allow myself to really look. And I have an inkling about it. The first idea that I might not have to just accept and live with this, for ever, just the way it is. Something about the why of the whole thing. Something really changes once you start looking at yourself as essentially okay. Even when you feel like you're solidly not. Stuff that I always saw as proof for not quite, suddenly becomes the raw material of who I already am. It feels like - somehow - I just need to translate this. The little girl inside has been telling me this all along, but it's taken me long to listen: I need to find out how to DEAL. 

I need to find out how to deal, because after all this time, after everything, I refuse to accept that I'm faulty, flawed, or even weird. How's that for a salty truth?! I'll go with intense. I'll give you that. Because I don't believe it's a flaw - it's a trait, and one that I'm okay with. One that I'm starting to value even! On good days, of course ;)

I'm intense, and I'm open. And I don't know how to hit the breaks. I don't think I have to change, pull up my guards - I'm learning to like myself and my honesty - but I need to learn to break - get quiet and assess. Before Picasso breaks for me and everything turns wonky. And this is new and tentative, but I think I can learn to save myself - before I fall apart. And knowing that this comes from the bottom of the barrel and I'm all naked in there, shouting anyway? As a woman in progress, I think that means there is truth in it. And hard work. Yes, that too ;) But I'm good with that - there's courage and hope in finding something to work with!

So how are you?! Do you know how to break?

resigning

I've been walking around with my head in the clouds lately. Everything felt gorgeous! Things weren't smooth, necessarily, but the yeahs outweighed the what's-its for weeks! Fabulous! She came out of nowhere and waved magic around me!

And now, all of a sudden, walking in high-heeled shoes just doesn't work anymore. I put them on, I lean in, but it doesn't make me smile. The awesome is gone. I put them on to practise, and frankly because I want to hang on to amazing, but it doesn't work like that. That much is clear. I'm trying! In fact, I'm wearing them right now! But Fabulous has left. Leaving me trying to grab, hold on - knowing I can't win. Not like that, anyway.

This is tentative, at best, but I'm thinking it's all inside the difference between feeling it and trying to ride the wave. Living it, as opposed to trying to grab the story line, holding on to it for dear life. Going about your life with feeling, and letting Fabulous find you as you are. Warts & all, of course.

Somewhere along the line, by the wayside of talking about Fabulous, I forgot to feel her where she lives. I'm not all that familiar with Fabulous quite yet, but here's what I'm finding out; she needs to be felt. She doesn't like to be cemented. She doesn't want to be caught or captured, she likes to be free. She'll stay as long as you feed her, but you can't talk her back on the couch with you. 

And that, quite honestly, sucks! Because I talk! I've spent my life trying to capture and catch, trying to hold on and keep! My relationship with flexibility is new, and anything but flexible quite yet! I've always lassoed words around everything, knitted stories around what's up. Never mind that it didn't really work in any long run, ever - the point is, I'm slap-bang in the middle of the pradigm shift of a lifetime, and right now, I really feel the depth of neither here, nor there, quite yet!

Some stuff happened. That means, in this instance, that a can of worms was re-opened and I've been thinking about my womb again. I wish I could just say don't DO that, then!, but that would be too easy (because I can see a future road of Regret stretch out before me - mirage-style - if I let this whole thing lie where it's sleeping). So it's a good thing, I think. There are things you can't put off for too long. You can't leave them lounging in the back of your fridge, because no matter what their shelf-life is, at some point they will grow fuzz and legs and jump you. When it's least convenient. Yup.

But I was doing so well! I was hanging out with Fabulous, and we liked each other! And the crap thing about cans of worms? You can never just grab one worm and eat it with ketchup. When you start pulling, there's always a tangle of them, and they're never quiet and thoughtful and patient. They don't listen to reason. They mess up the kitchen you just cleaned in your awesome red boots and what you want to do is - you want to scream and send them packing. Stuff them back. Anything to keep Fabulous around! Anything not to have to go anywhere with the worms!

But what you need to do is - sit down in a puddle of sauce, right then and there, worms everywhere, and resign. Give up fighting to keep Fabulous where she feels she isn't wooed, and regroup.

It's really hard for me to hold on to what's going well, what's feeling good and wholesome and right when there are worms screaming at me from the opened fridge, but that's something I do need to learn. I need to listen to the worms and hang out with Fabulous. Maybe not quite at the same time, but I need to learn to be bendy around both. 

It's hard not to drown in never quite good enough - again. It's hard not to tell myself see, you tried, but it didn't last - we always knew you'd fall of your perch, didn't we?

But in the end, the only person deciding whether I'm good enough to run with my warts, in heels, juggling worms, pencils, my kid, my reproductive organs, my online presence and my social life - is me. Inside my life - though other people might have opinions - I'm the only one who can say I am enough and run with that, see where it takes me.

So I'm here, gathering courage again. The courage to sit down. To resign and to let the worms do their dance. To bravely show life my open palm; come sit with me. We might not always be best friends, but we can have coffee, right? I'm enough, warts & all, and I'll have you sit with me just the way you are today, too; let's just see what happens when we don't fight or try so hard to sort it all out, between us!

It's a lot like my yoga practise these days. I often find myself thinking that this isn't comfortable, I don't like this! But then I tell myself - it isn't about being all cool with the stretch, it's about the stretch. It's about being there, even when it's uncomfortable, and hanging out with that.

Yes. Like I said, I talk well. So I'm off to lean in now. And while that might prove a whole lot harder than writing about it, I'm doing it, anyway.

See ya, Fabulous! I know you'll be back, and I'll be here. Sauce on my chin, worms in my hair, but I'll be here. Wearing my stupid heels!

** those hands were drawn for Koosje's course, and I LOVED doing them! After a whole lot of procrastinating and I can't do this! I don't DO people, I don't DO body parts! ;)

Koosje is a super teacher, her course is still working magic, even if the heels and Fabulous don't! It seems like resigning was the message all along, this week. And if I can draw hands like this, dealing with worms should be a piece of cake, right?! Hahaha ;)

sticking

So I’ve promised myself that I’m off looking for the truths of me. I want to find myself beyond what I believe I am. Not who I want to become when all the growing-up is done; not who I think I should be. Not who my mother would like me to be, and not necessarily anyone’s next best friend, either! I’m going to be spending time getting acquainted with myself – with the little girl inside, as well as the she-devil! I’ve embarked on a trip to learn to embrace myself, warts and all!

& it goes deep. It means I need to change my operating system – update my software to run on a new promise. I’ve always been working the idea that I was growing towards a better version of myself, but I just don’t believe that’s true anymore! I’ve always sort of held back from really looking for myself inside my life, because I thought I should wait till I’d be right-er, better, ready-er. But when will that be?

Never. That’s when. When the bottom-line is growth, you’ll never be fully grown. You can’t be, because when you are, the bottom falls out! At least that’s what I think by now. I’ve never quite put into words what I wanted to be at the end of all that becoming, because I’ve never felt equipped to know who I’d be when I’d finally find myself as something that I’m most certainly, quite seriously NOT, yet... Do you know where you’ll be when the growing is done? It’s a never-ending process of looking at lack, looking at not-quite, looking at room for improvement.

This whole new way of being – as opposed to becoming; learning – as opposed to perpetually ‘growing to measure up’; it’s a process, again. Of course! I’ve lived with the old words for so long, that there is no way I won’t slip up, fall back, get left behind, forget to bring my je ne sais quoi! And the beauty is – it doesn’t matter! It’s all me, it’s all you – it’s the being human in ‘human being’! I don’t have to berate myself, belittle myself because I think I might have missed an obvious signpost that’s supposed to point me towards my life. I’m not missing the point; there is no growth chart, no manual, no map to guide me on the Road to Me, because I’m already there! I’m the me inside this skin, beautiful, warts & all!

This is all new, and it feels good! It feels solid! It feels right to walk towards myself, showing up to meet me, instead of dreaming about who I might be when I’m finally finished! Yes it does! In moments, it does. In theory it does. When I’m chatting about it with myself, in my head? Awesome idea! But in reality, trying to live this? It doesn’t just feel awkward, it feels utterly alien! Who am I when I can’t curl up into a tiny ball, feeling like I’m always coming up short when things spin out of reach?

I’ve got a beautiful answer, here it is: “Well, I’m the little girl inside myself who can feel like she’s coming up short, and curl up into a tiny ball! But I’ll tell myself I’m not always coming up short. That feeling this doesn’t change who I am inside. That it’s okay to feel what I feel, as long as I don’t swallow it, become it, wear it like it’s mine. And that curling up into a tiny ball really feels comfortable, at times.”

But the truth is – in daily life, I’m back to baby-steps again, and it feels really, really weird to be kind to myself. I know that rock-solidly means I’ve been chewing myself to the bones of me for too long, but I have – for most of my life. And there is no quick fix.

In a way, the idea of perpetual growth, the not-quite-ness of it all? It’s a perfect excuse! Which is why it worked for so long – especially the past three years, when I rubbed it in more gently than I did before. That means I’ve been patronising myself, of course, but it feels – comfortable, looking back! Like a sweater worn soft by years of daily wear, never mind the gaping holes... When you’re not quite anything, quite yet, there is a lot of room to manoeuvre! Because you’re not all there yet, anyway, so it doesn’t matter all that much. But of course it did matter! & why wasn’t I ‘there’ yet?! There was a whole bloody castle worth of room to get really angry and endlessly frustrated at the whole process – so what, exactly, am I calling comfortable?! I mean, I’m not going to pretend that I’m here trying to embrace those dratted warts because I was bored ;) 

But this whole new thing? It’s just – really hard work. And I’ll admit that somewhere, deep down, I’d hoped that – because I already am that Me with Those Warts, it’d be sort of easy... That all I had to do was see and embrace and we’d be done with all this crap! Okay, it might need some tweaking, some fine-tuning – but essentially, it’d all fall into place, land softly, and I’d be on my merry way to where I was meant to go! No! Hold on! That should be where I already am, albeit unbeknownst ;)

Instead, of course, I find myself utterly lost and unable in so many ways – this woman I already am? Uncharted, alien territory, people! – and I can’t even tell myself “don’t worry, honey, you’ll grow into your skin, one fine day!” Can you see why that would help? Why that, to me & to how I’ve always done things, would be a sweet song (like a lullaby...) right about now?

Because the new answer is harsh! It could be something like “I know you’re lost, sweetie, but that’s a truthful part of you, right now. You need to lean in, see the bottom and embrace it.” And while that’s true, while I know that if I let myself be where I find myself, without fighting it tooth and nail – I’ll get back up much quicker, I might learn that it isn’t such a scary place to be, because the little girl inside does know how to swim – yes, while that really is the bottom of how I want to learn to see, I just don’t know how to talk to myself like that, be patient like that. I’m really trying, but to my untrained inner ear, it sounds more like “That’s the you inside the you, silly cow. Yup, that’s the pathetic extend of what you’re trying to be happy with! Lost? Again?! Sounds about right! Good luck with that!”

I want to hold myself accountable, this year. I want to chart this process & stick with it, because it really matters. It feels good to realise that I do know how to answer my own questions with love, even when at times I feel utterly unequipped to hear myself beyond the twisted, loveless version.

It’s more than a learning curve, it’s about mothering myself! It’s about learning how to listen to the wisdom inside. As told by the person who knows me best. To meet myself as a friend, instead of someone I need to grow away from. Because when put like that, isn’t that a crazy thing to strive for?! Leave yourself as far behind as you possibly can! That way... Uhm... Yes, well... Indeed!

“Stick with ME, sweet pea!” This mantra popped into my head the other day – just like that, walking back from taking the kid to school; out on my lonesome, minding the dog poo, not looking for wise, per se. But the words stuck with me, and they help me focus! I don’t know who Me is, exactly, and it might take a whole year to make a mere dent in all that, but wisdom is mundane at times, especially when it comes unbidden. Sometimes, all you can do is not wander off. Even if that – almost paradoxically – means meandering on a new path without a map. Sometimes, courage is nothing more than telling yourself to stick with you – because you’re worth it. & that’s not a small thing!

So stick with you! I’m sticking with me! I really believe, right now, that the courage to do that is the start of everything else!

permission

I have made so many conscious attempts to be here more that I've lost count... And I have finally made a dent in - figuring out why it hasn't been happening. It's about fear. The fear of showing myself out loud and finding no one who cares. To meet shrugs. That's what's stopping me. This old, well-worn idea that being me and everything I bring is nothing to write home about. It's subconsious, and it's been sneaking up on me, but there it is...

Over the months, it's been harder to get here. I've been up to - much, in my head. I've been growing, soul-searching, drawing, changing some patterns, and thinking about all the above. I've been doing a whole lot of grieving, too. The hard stuff I wrote the monster post about; the way my life changed - as lives do - and the need to grab a hold of the stuff I say matters. Figure out what really does matter, and how I want to live it! What I want to show of it, what I want to be honest about, and when to basically stop babbling. And what to do when I do shut up! I've been everywhere, travelling long roads inwards - but I haven't been out, much.

I miss it. Being out. Meeting up with friends to talk and draw, to walk and talk, to hang out in coffee shops... Meeting friends online, reading blogs, hanging out in that virtual coffee shop, too. I feel like I've lost my voice, a little. Because I've been afraid to talk out loud. I've been hanging around with the wrong crowd and my inner critic a little too much for the past half year. I won't say that some things haven't changed for the better, I've had a couple of meaningful heart-to-hearts - but mainly with myself - inner dialogues & long monologues where the other side of me merely nodded and grunted in all the right places. I've spent some time slaying dragons, and trying to put my mother-issues to bed. I've dusted some shelves and figurines - broke a few, too. Shelves and figurines. But at some stage, enough really is enough, and you need to get out. Get it out & all. Get your courage on and be. Out loud, that is!

I've spent a lot of time thinking about blogging more. Thinking about re-invention and direction and change. But my blog is called Muddle On Through for a reason. That's me, that's who I am, that's what I do. I could pretend otherwise, but only for a while, and it would feel like a lie. I would love to be known for my wisdom - for how I grab life and don't let go, but if that's what you're looking for here, you have to read between the lines at times; find the truth where it resides for you. I suppose it's more likely that I'll be known as honest and human. Warts and a tendency to over-think. Shrugged about, perhaps, but the question is whether that matters, deeply. Whether it changes who I am. Because that old shoe fits, and I'm learning to be okay, to bend with the truths of me. I'm not as flexible as I'd like to be, that's a truth, too. But I'm working hard on not breaking quite as much anymore. And you'll find my purr-mode in working order when you least expect it!

I'm not challenging anyone but myself to stick around, of course. My blog was always going to be about who I am and what I make - whether that's sense, a mess, or art - so I'm pushing through this idea that I need to change course in order to blog. I'll stick with what I know & who I am. No more imagined apologies for posts never written because I'm worrying who will care.

I'm renewing my vows to document what makes me tick. To be like that if that's the mood that shows. Whatever the mood that shows. To show my warts, my art and my je ne sais quois. This is where I learn to bend, and where I'm breakable. This is where I take up all the space I need. Where I clash with the décor. Where I'll try to be all that I already am.

So I'm welcome here. That's my 2013 gift to myself :) And you are more than welcome here, too! With warts of your own - whether you're ready or willing to share or not. You're so welcome. It really is lovely to have you!

& here's a question for you:

If we all really are our own solid ground in this mayhem called life, what does yours look like? This is mine! For now ;)

39

This New Year? 
Not to constantly feel the tugs - big and small - that I SHOULD be things I'm not, but to finally be who I AM.
Yes. Warts & all.
Basically? I want to YAY my warts this year :D


P.S. this is a cut-out from a collage I did back in January. Note to self - and to YOU! - cutting and pasting random words from magazines, composing wisdom by accident, is a great way to cut loose from the crap in your brain ;)

laundry

smile

First day of the first week of Isaak's School Kid Carreer. Courageous kid. He feels it, too, of course. This really is momentous for both of us...

So I came home to an empty house and time. I'd promised myself I'd fill it with something. Something meaningful - as far as I know what that is, right now. Move past the guilt that claiming this time as mine and pristine brings up. Trying not to waver in my resolution to make this time count - for something decidedly not chores of any kind. Nor entertaining distractions, no matter how they whisper that they're easy and instant and will cure all that ails while I let them. I need to start as I plan to go on.

Here's what came up;

autumn comes & shines with an in-your-face beauty that silently SINGS

I'm smiling reluctantly & in spite of myself
letting my bones warm
guilt isn't made to hang on to
especially not the kind we pour over ourselves
masked grief needs colour
light
air
healing does start here and now...

In the end, it all starts with permission. Giving yourself permission to smile, to enjoy, to embrace, to really see what we're given to play with. And to play then. Especially when that's the hardest thing to do. Sometimes the only way to take a first, scared, clueless, hesitant step onto the daunting road ahead is to allow yourself to play with what's here, now. So that's what I did.

healing continues, here and now.

Will you give yourself permission to play today? Do something, anything - just because you know deep down that it's good for you! Chocolates - to help swallow the guilt - are on me today :)

mamma

Hard to get started on this one. Because I want to capture months in a single blog post. For myself as much or more than for the sake of explaining. I think it's time I wrap up the whole mess and tie it with a bow. Not because it's all done and dusted, or because it's chiseled in stone - but because where I've come from, where I'm at, now, is a new beginning of sorts. Not completely fresh, not entirely clean, but a starting point for the rest of it, at least.

This past year has been all about - figuring out where I want to go. At least, that's what I thought. That's what my internal ad agency wanted me to buy into, and I did, with a vengeance. I thought I was ready, for the next stage, but I was clueless about where to start. There is a whole world behind that, filled with never learned to dream Big about my life, but let's just say that by the time Summer came round, I was - disappointed & stressed out. In a way, I'm embarrassed to admit that I was stressed out by something so... selfish and quite vague to boot, but there you go - I was wrapped up in chaotic attempts at capturing the Meaning of My Life, getting angry at myself for not being able to just do it. 

So I went to Africa. My inlaws live there, it was an extended family visit, not a dramatic journey to find my roots in the soil where life began - although at that stage, I would have paid a price for a meaningful retreat with a local Sangoma who'd figure it all out for me ;) 

But the holidays were amazing, all on their own. Because I knew I wasn't going to find my Illuminated Path out there, anyway, I relaxed and let everything come the way it would. And it was beautiful! I saw that the world kept turning without me trying to spin it! I know it might sound dramatic, but I really felt I was accepted and loved - and I wasn't actually doing anything to deserve it! I'm sure that's been true throughout my life - as it is for all of us - but this was the first time I actually saw it, and took it in... And it led to all kinds of  - insights about life, about me, about feeling instead of trying to control!

So we got home, eventually, and I was all eager and ready to start sorting my new from my old perspectives, and run with it from there, but then I got sick. Nothing all that serious, but annoying enough not to be able to get on with things and be all new! And sick turned into another kind of sick, which turned into another kind of not-quite-right, and when I finally found my feet again - after antibiotics, a root canal and two months' worth of taking-it-easy - chaos had put on a fresh set of clothes and was solidly back. I woke up from being sick after taking a long and winding detour - trying to find out where I want to go was a lot like trying to run before figuring out the bones of walking - to find my awesome three-year-old about to turn four... 

I'd been denying and avoiding that can of worms, ostrich-style. Because I wasn't ready to face it. And I still sort of against the odds hoped that the Universe would hold off. Hindsight, my detour might have been a run for a shortcut. To be ready. To be ready-er. To be Me with a Certain Life; a dream, a meaningful goal, an end to work towards. A life that would immediately see good use for all that extra time - because FOUR (in the Netherlands) isn't just a birthday - it's a coming of age. For children and their mothers... Four is - pretty much - the day my child goes off to school...

Last Tuesday, my baby turned four. Beautifully, magnificently - wise, gorgeous, amazing & awesome - four. & there is hard ahead, in that. In letting go; sending him - reluctantly, completely! - off into a world of his own where he'll weave his own magic fabric & face his own fears and triumphs. Where I take another, bigger, step back - always there to catch, kiss & make better, but forced into the sidelines a little more. Less able to 'look inside his head', less able to know what's going on, less able to fix what isn't smooth...

I know it goes with the territory of - raising a human being. Because that's what we do, us mothers, in the end. Having a baby isn't about a baby, although it feels that way for the longest time. It's about teaching another human being to be ready for the world. & the better we do that, the more stepping back we need to do. There is beauty in that, of course, but it's terrifying beauty when you're in the middle of it! Knowing that  he's happily running away from you because you made him feel safe and confident enough to do so doesn't console when you're looking at his cute tiny backside & all you can see, all that drowns you, is the fact that he's off. Skipping, no less!

He comes back of course, with stories of his own to tell. And you're still a mamma, his mamma! & you hope - more than actual knowing - it will get easier with time. Because all your friends and people who care tell you it will. And you believe them because you want to, and the tiny - hindsight! - steps before got easier as well. But for now, for right now, the hole in your heart is so big, a world could pass through without touching the edges...

All of this wraps itself around me, of course. Because my baby is ready for this step. And on the outside, I'm cheering him on! Of course I am! I remember from being a kid myself - new things are scary, but exciting, and growing bigger is all you want to do!

But I'm left with a hole to fill. And along the way, since coming back from Africa, I've realised that - this year isn't about finding out where I want to go with my life - it's about finding out who I am. Who I've become. It's about seeing all that I've shedded and all that I've taken on - in bigger and wee little steps - to become the fallible but actually okay human being I am. It's about defining myself, starting with where I am, instead of where I was.

Because I came into being a mamma with a whole lot of bagage. I came from mud. I came from - never enough, and never going to be anything but a failure - all that, drowned in Chardonnay. And I grew, with my kid. I am a world away from where I was before. As a mamma. Here I am, on this threshold that looks like a mountain, feeling like I'm nothing but a mamma. Like there isn't enough of me to fill all that kid-in-school space with things that matter. It's exactly why I started this year thinking it was all about finding direction, when it's really, in the mud of things, about finding me. I've been hiding inside the mamma. Right now, I feel like I only matter in light of being a mamma. Because before I became a mother, I was nothing. Nothing of much consequence, anyway.

& in the middle of all that thinking, feeling and crying - so who am I, with this hole in my heart? - I found myself pregnant.

We've been trying for a second child for about 2,5 years now, swinging between failing to conceive and miscarrying (before you ask: we haven't seen a doctor about it yet. No. Because I used to believe in natural, and in accidents, and in belief, and trust, and hope, and in it will happen if it's meant to be. I'm losing balance on that perch, but that's another story). Another can of worms when it comes to my identity as mother - because it's hard not to think 'if I'm so good at being a mamma, why can't I be a mamma twice?' followed by the crushing thought that - I might be a mamma before and beyond everything else, but that doesn't necessarily mean I'm great at it! - eventhough I know, of course, that it doesn't work like that and it means nothing as much as it means everything.

My miscarriage started on Sunday, the day of Isaak's birthday party. And I kept it together, sort of, not yet ready to let go. On Tuesday, his actual birthday, there was no point denying it anymore. There wasn't going to be a baby. Not this baby, anyway. At 6 weeks, 1 day, I lost another dream. But I kept it together again, as much as I could. Because it was my amazing kid's birthday! Because Isaak turning 4, going to school, that was meant to be my emotional sinkhole!

And it was, and it is, of course. My emotional sinkhole is - being a mamma. Not being a mamma. How much of a mamma I am, how I measure up. How far does my mamma-ness stretch, and where am I, beyond that. Stretching myself around that pregnancy - gingerly - thinking that I wouldn't need to find myself beyond being a mamma quite yet, and the relief in that, too.

Life is as much about saying goodbye as it is about saying hello. I realise that. Life doesn't like holes, and as long as you don't go sit down in one, occupy it like you own it, it will fill itself with something else. Something meaningful, too - if you take care, are willing to see it for what it is. So yes, I'm open. I'm an open wound, but open, nonetheless. The gaping moment after goodbye is terrifying - when you let go of something - especially when it's something you don't really want to end; something you don't want to lose; someone you don't want to see leave - and you're not quite sure, never less sure of what it is you'll be saying hello to.

All I know right now, is that I'm saying goodbye to the baby I nurtured to be ready for school, not knowing who we'll grow up to be, either of us, but open to it, with heaps of love, knowing this 'in-between' will pass (and come again in various shapes and forms). And I'm saying goodbye to the baby I didn't get to hold. I'm saying goodbye to the me who thinks she's nothing but a mamma, and hope to discover who she is when that second skin comes off. And I'm holding this space - no matter how tiny it feels to be right now.

It's been cathartic, to write my story down. I'm weaving fabric here. The fabric of my human life. There is no point in construction - part of me wants to tie the loose ends and force the pattern to repeat - force the colours to match - but there is no such thing. Trying only keeps me spinning my wheels in sadness. I want there to be space! Space to see the sights, space to find roads and detours. Breathing space. Space to find the wisdom in hindsight - not that which masks as wisdom, ahead of its time and place. Been there, done that, and it's never yet led me to where I truly live.

It would be too easy - no matter how it beckons - to tie loose ends to make space. Because right now, I don't see much space ahead. But it doesn't work. You can't outrun goodbyes forever - say hello to whatever looks promising, no matter what - just to embrace something. There comes a point where you have to sit down and take your time with it.

It feels like I've been trying to outrun this while paradoxically sitting down with it at the same time - for months. In the shortcut I tried to take, in the months of inflamations, and in the too-real things that happened over the past weeks. Like I've been holding my breath for a whole year by now, only to find that it didn't help, and I'm not ready, and I don't know when I'll get up again. But I will. I'm already in the process of getting up, although not quite ready to move on.

I think I'm ready to take on all that time ahead - the hours when Isaak is in school - and fill it with not knowing. And to be okay with not knowing for a while. I mean really okay. An open sort of okay. Not limited by frustration or a need to know. I think, basically, I need to see who I am for who I am, and see what happens next. And draw some of it!

I hope you made it all the way to the end of this post, but if you didn't, that's okay. What matters to me, quite selfishly, is that I did. I'm here. I made it through to the end of it, and the end is merely a new beginning. If I let it be that. And I will. I'm willing and able and courageous enough.

I love this quote:
"When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one that has been opened to us." - Helen Keller

& it tells me exactly where to be right now.