I’m not writing much about my kids. I don’t post their pictures on the blog but they are scattered on Instagram, always with their permission. When I first started this blog 5 years ago (holy moly 5!) I wrote about food, health, my family. That is how I entered the world of online voice and over the years I changed. My passions and desires and the way I weave words, changed.
I have a deep respect for the fact that my kids are getting older and I’ve asked that my blog not be something they read because it is written for adults, but I know that people who know them read my words. When it feels like a part of my story to tell, I do. I hope to always have that inner wisdom guiding me.
Here is a piece that I haven’t written about, but a conversation I’ve started to have with women further along the years than I am…the disconnect with your kids. After spending a whole lotta years as a heavy attachment parent, after not filling my tank the way I should have, I started to search for me. And in that search I often feel disconnected from the mother born in me 11 years ago.
I became so much more the day I became a mother. I also lost of piece of myself that I am now searching to find and heal. I know like any relationship there will be times that we are more connected and times we seem to float apart. I never thought this could happen with children. But it does.
I’m holding on so tightly to the connection with my 5 year old because next year he will join the other 2 in school full time. I won’t have him as my partner during the day, the person to hug or snuggle with when the air turns cold. As they get older our relationships change and it is beautiful to witness and hard to let go.
Being a highly sensitive parent with 3 kids is a tough undertaking. I am constantly being asked to stretch in ways I’m not sure my body can withstand. And then I see the littlest put his head on his brother’s shoulder and hear them crack up. I witness the way my daughter’s hand creates pictures out of nothing but a direct Universal download and watch her body start to look like mine.
And I stretch a little bit further.
I don’t write much about my marriage, other than the fact that we are walking through some scary but hopefully beautiful times together. 19 years is a long time, meaning, we aren’t the same make-up of people we were when we met. And we are in it. In the work, the decisions, the love that has glued us together for so long.
Right now this piece is so sacred and so delicate. And while I know that words about my journey through this could offer strength and support to others, it isn’t the time. But my part of the journey is where my words land now. The women who have gathered around me during this time of deep healing and a lot of fear, get earfuls, and they help me to process and ask me questions that prompt me further into my knowing.
Being in this middle passage age I often feel an urge to retreat from the work, the truth, the feelings all tangled up. But the years I’ve lived, they are the wisdom that are now my wings. Craving this amount of space in my life now feels a bit selfish and yet like a lifeline.
And Patrick’s story, his movement through this time inspires me. His depth of love, support and knowing, even his fears and insecurities. We don’t know where we will land, but we are doing everything from a place of love.
This is the only way we know.
The other thing I don’t write about is how I am not this blog, these words, my programs. I believe that you can see all of me when I show up in transparency but I am learning you can’t. I know this is OK.
When people meet me in person they can finally see more parts of me. I want more of that. I am calling forth women to more gatherings, more special moments are being created. (#operationselfcarelikewhoa has spaces left) I will start to make more videos. If you follow me on Instagram you’ll see more bits of my world, my passions, myself.
I want to know I am wrapped with the comfort that “we are all just walking each other home.” ~ Ram Dass
I started the #ilovethislifenow on Instagram because I needed to stop and remind myself that even when it was hard and ugly and painful, this life, this now, this moment holds beauty. When I see the pictures that others post I feel some of the loneliness lift. I want to share that power of knowing, of connection.
As I was writing this a dear soul-sister posted the poem from Oriah Mountain Dreamer, The Invitation.
“I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.”
“I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.”
I wanted to know what I wasn’t writing about because the source of those unwritten words are keeping time in my life right now.
I want you to know that I believe in magic. And guides. And divine timing. And serendipity. And cracking open. And having our own truth. And living in the grey. And unicorns. And the power of tattoos. And fierce love. And circles of women. And words, words. And soul longings. And the best plate of pomme frites with any kind of mayo. And sitting with the pain, the joy, the beauty.