For when you’re feeling low
Today I woke up without the alarm. My body was wired to support my daughter, who was going on a much-needed hike with her mates, two weeks ahead of the GCSE onslaught. She needs this like a car needs fuel; to power her bones, fill her with some positive vibration to help her through the endless life-draining revision. I worry about her, but she’s awake today without any issues - hair in neat plaits; lunch things packed away. Coat on her arm. I’m really glad to see this change in her.
I’m yanking on my running leggings (please ignore irony of that one), pulling on a soft warm layer over my T-shirt. I drive her up to her friend’s house just as the birds start their crescendo. On the way back, I consider my options. A small voice in my head recommends that I get out my journal and a cup of tea, sit with the dog and start my morning pages…the other voice tells me to go back to bed. I go to sit on the big chair by the window that we share awkwardly, as he shuffles his backside to get more space. I love the feel of his warm body smelling of earth. I close my eyes and feel what my body actually wants: bed.
As I sit there, eyes closed, dog on lap, tears run down my face. It’s just a few weeks since my Mum’s untimely death. It’s Easter Weekend. She would have been here with me, peeling carrots and cutting up potatoes for a roast dinner. I’m raw with grief. I realise, despite all the obligations, that I’m still deep in sadness that seems like a bottomless pit. I’m in the depths of it, no ladder out, only a tiny glimpse of light, but not much. Will I ever get out? I don’t know. I heave out the tears. The dog licks them off my cheeks. I can’t stop. I won’t stop. I try not to make any noise as I need to heave them out drop by drop; I need this out of my body and the only way is through. Breathe. Heave. Breathe. Bury my head in his fur. He lets me. No judgement, just presence. God, I love him for that.
When it subsides, I move off the chair, grabbing his bed and allowing him to accompany me back to bed. He curls obediently at the foot of it; waiting for his walk. I fall back asleep for a couple of hours.
The thing is, over the years of motherhood, heavy workload, household obligations, corporate responsibilities, my ability to let go and let out whatever has been inside of me, has been stifled and boxed in. I’m not used to letting it all out. Society (especially in England), doesn’t feel comfortable in the presence of immense unbridled emotion. Over time, the lump in my throat has been swallowed over and over again; the ache in my back a reminder that my body is keeping score…if I don’t allow the emotional release, I will receive an unwelcome payback. I know this to be true. I can see it in my friends, my family. Choose to gulp it down? OK, just wait for the high blood pressure, the lump, the strange skin rash, the ache in your hip. I’ll get you another way. You must feel this. It’s what will move you to another plane in this world. This is your gift from the awfulness, should you choose to take it.
So today, and going forth I’m going to honour what’s inside of me. If that means taking the dog for a walk and a wail in the woods, so be it. The only way is through. If I catch myself cleaning, tidying, fussing, inventing work, I’ll ask myself if I’m avoiding what’s inside. I’ll honour what I’m feeling: good, bad, truly awful or wonderful, whatever is coming up. All is welcome. All must flow.
A voice message from a beautiful soul arrives. She speaks to me about letting it go, honouring my emotions fully and unapologetically, reminding me of the power I will feel once I move on from this dark pit of mine. She provides hope, compassion and deep wisdom grounded in an uncanny intuitive timing that leaves me spellbound. I mean, how did she know to send that message just at that moment?
When everything is broken, everything is also up for grabs. That’s the gift of Winter; it’s irresistible. Change will happen in its wake, whether we like it or not. We come out of it wearing a different coat. - Katherine May, Wintering
I feel shifted enough to call my Uncle, to complain about the grass seed he encouraged me to sow, that hasn’t yet germinated. He laughs at my impatience and tells me about his new beehive. Sweet connection fills my cup.
So my darlings, what are you hiding? What needs to be honoured today and not tomorrow? What can you release from your deep cellular layers out into the Universe, to allow you to breathe, smile and begin again?
