Every fall, my kids bring home a cold from school. They tagged me “it” and ran away, their good health restored.
Me? I’ve been too tired to chase anything.
It’s not just physical. When I feel crummy, I rest without guilt. Giving myself unconditional permission to slow down because my body demands it opens a portal into how tired I am in my mind and spirit, too.
Like Alice down the rabbit hole, I fell into a strange state of not-here, not-there for a few days last week. I couldn’t use doing to numb the disquiet in my being.
Know what I mean?
Being in this wonderland makes me question more than usual: What am I doing with my life? Is this it? Is this what I want?
I fantasize about change, imagine evenings learning new dances with my husband like our early dates instead of zoning out on sitcoms because the kids are finally in bed and my energy is gone. I cringe at the piles of garbage and recycling we generate each week and wish we lived differently, closer to Mother Earth in a rhythm that’s more attuned to her needs and our own.
Should we sell everything and move off-grid, try our hand at homesteading and unschooling? What would life be like if I’d never gone to law school, gotten married, or become a mom? Would I be a writer witch, living alone in the woods? Would I be happier? (To this, my answer is easy: “no.”) I feel the financial crush of late-stage capitalism and oppressive hierarchies, feel all the ways we’re collectively trapped—at once an illusion and not.
In this place, every emotion lives at my surface. Yesterday I cried over photos of my firstborn from 11 years ago, when she was a chubby-cheeked baby and easy to comfort. I dropped off my middle daughter at a birthday party to the delighted shrieks of her friends and teared up on the ride home, suddenly remembering and longing for the same innocent fun.
I read a book about the mental health journey and undeniable courage required to escape a family cult (Counting the Cost by Jill Duggar) and wished the author would go much further to embrace everyone’s innate freedom across the board, including sexual orientation and gender identity. I started another book on reclaiming relationships with the dead (Take Back the Magic by Perdita Finn) and wondered how/whether it fits into my life while also greatly admiring the author’s personal stories and prose.
I’ve been questioning my own past, my family dynamics, the discomfort of not knowing every big truth with certainty I can prove to anyone. I’ve been trying to reconcile my yearning to do, be, offer more in this life with the reality of time and physical constraints.
I want to write more and better and wider. I’m not sure where or how or why. For now, I’m trusting the absence of a specific pull despite my painful, vague yearning to move forward.
Last night, from the toilet, I saw a garden spider on my bathroom ceiling.
“Oh, Grandmother, what is happening? What can I do?”
This morning did not bring answers, but my body feels better and my mind and spirit are more at ease, too. Whatever comes next, I felt like telling you about all of this.
How are you?
Your thoughts remind me of The Awakening by Kate Chopin, in that reflective practice comes with decisions that are pivotal to our journey. The humans who see this Light are blessed, no matter which direction they take.