Isn't it like breathing...
Sometimes when I sit down to eat my breakfast I open up one of my books that I always keep nearby. 'In The Company of Rilke' by Stephanie Dowrick. Rilke, his words sit with me, they stick to me, they hit somewhere between my heart and my head and I appreciate it so much.
The other morning I sat down, tired, alone, groggy from pregnant sleep, the silence holding space. I flipped open the book and this line, I read it over and over and over and over. I wrote it in my journal. I wrote it again. I messaged it to my soul sister who also loves Rilke. I carried it around with me in my metaphorical pocket. It sums up how I am experiencing life right now. Perhaps always, but consciously right now. Here it is...
'Isn't it like breathing, this constant interchange between attachment and relinquishing...' Rilke
Isn't it just? I feel change blowing in the spring breeze. I feel upheaval. I feel uncertainty, unknown, blowing through my bones. With each breath it goes like this. Inhale and attach. Exhale and detach. Hold on, let go, hold on, let go. Breathe in, breathe out.
Whats going on? you ask. Two of my closest, beloved friends are moving away. My eyes water thinking about it. The rollercoaster of the second half of my third pregnancy. There is 17 weeks left of growing a human in my belly. Only 17 and a whole entire 17. 120 days left of this. My body swirls with this. Managing gestational diabetes, awareness of my health, needing support from my little family that have been away for almost 10 days. Seeing their little cheeks, hands, feet on FaceTime make me ache for hugs and kisses of the softest sweetest kind. That only my own velevety cheeked children can provide. Missing the connection of my best friend and life partner. The vulnerability that this time brings. My inner 5 year old is taking up more space then usual at the moment.
I was recently asked, how does the young part of you love to be loved?
She loves to be taken care of and yet, why is it so hard to let that be? Hardening up as an adult, asking for help is the hardest thing in the world for me to do. You too? I am finding that the deeper I get into motherhood the easier it is becoming to ask for help. Out of necessity. Sometimes I need a reminder, a prod in the right direction - ah yes! I don't have to do it all alone. Call in that village. It doesn't have to be all hard. I have nothing to prove. Stay soft, gentle, remember boundaries, and the restorative power of sleep and do not be afraid to ask for help.
It doesn't read like much, or perhaps it does. But it is a lot to hold in my body.
Stay, but go. Grow well, but hurry up. Take care of health, but fuck it also. Stay away, but come home already. It feels like a tightrope, a fine line to stay here, balance all the emotions and breathe through it. Instead of escaping through my usual crutches, alcohol, taking my emotions out on my family, food, I stay here, in it. Vulnerable and raw and actually, ok.
Attaching and relinquishing. This is my breath.