Slowness
I’ve moved my morning coffee ritual out to the back yard.
A chair from the deck has made its way down to the grass.
Half in the shade, so from this vantage point I can see sun stream through the branches of my White Rose of Sharon.
Butterfly, squirrel, bunny, groundhog, bees, and occasionally a deer come to greet me.
I don’t know how much company I am for the creature’s.
Face drenched in tears, my gaze falls somewhere on the distant horizon. Theres a memory playing in my mind.
I’m not really present in these quiet morning moments.
——-
It’s dawned on me to be grateful it’s summer. No where to go, nothing to do.
But every once and a while, I feel the energetic whip crack. The shoulds start.
I can’t believe how ingrained this forward march orientation is, even in grief.
I remember this from the last time I experienced a major grief and trauma just under a decade ago.
I kept trying to re-inhabit my previous shape. My previous pace. But that was too painful. There was no going back. I had to let myself shatter. Let all of the pieces fall to the floor.
We have that family pattern. Hyper-responsibility. “I can do this on my own”
But the thing is, I cannot do this on my own.
So one of the only shoulds I’m tracking, is “am I pulling community and loved ones close?”
Am I open?
———
We are one day away from school starting.
The change of pace feels like it is being thrust upon me like an unwelcome guest.
I’m not ready to whip my system into a frenzy.
The to-do lists are a legitimate burden. Heavy.
The archetype “capable good mother” is knocking on my door.
Then, just yesterday I realized, I don’t have to answer when this pattern knocks.
It can be enough to drive the kids to and from school.
It’s still ok to grieve.
It’s sooo early in this whole experience.
I can give myself lots of time and space.
I can keep my feet on the grass for as long need to.
Let nature nurse me back to life in its own time.
I’m not stuck if I’m barely moving. Im just slow. Savoring. Like sap. Not sludge.
It’s ok.
I have Permission to move at the pace of my broken heart.
Slowly, softly. Gentle. Gentle.
