Finding my spirit

Filed under: Just For Moms, Work Life, Health & Safety: Babies, Development/Milestones: Babies

Those who know me best have delicately suggested that I haven't been myself lately. Probably, maybe, that I haven't been myself for several months. It's been a rough year, a time of transition, take care of yourself. It's a familiar refrain. Yet I feel like: I am taking care of myself, I work obsessively, that's how I cope.

Loved ones seem to have gentler activities in mind. Work obsession isn't regarded as therapeutic, it seems. My Mom suggested yoga, something I used to love with a passion. She'd babysit. I could pick a night.
"No, Mom, I can't. I have so much work to do."

You'd never know it, because I never see them (see Exhibit A above, obsessive work habits), but I have a cherry bowl full of really great friends less than an hour away from my new home. Krista the Kind has suggested lunches, hikes, a pedicure. And I make feeble attempts, because I know time with friends would be good for me, I cannot be a completely unsociable hermit before I have hit my midlife crisis, but truthfully, I never quite manage to follow through. I have Nolan, I must fix the house, things are crazy.

Here's the truth: I am scared, when I am around good people who ask me how I am doing, that I might start crying and never be able to stop. I am scared I will admit that I don't know if I can do this, that I'm not sure my heart will ever feel whole again, that I am not sure I am enough for Nolan, for myself.

But here's what I learned last weekend, when my Mom called me as the morning sun was slanting through my kitchen windows: rejuvenation is out there waiting, you just need to catch it.

"Come down, Dad will look after Nolan,"she said,"The ocean is like glass and the kayaks are on the dock."

Despite my writing that needed tending, despite proposals that needed to be packaged and sent, despite 72 unread emails and a toddler who wanted to play cars on my head, I felt the urge to do it, take the time, do nothing but dip and paddle, sigh and feel the ocean move gracefully beneath me.

It's unbelievable how twenty minutes of beauty can change one's perspective entirely. My eyes filled with tears when I was in that little green kayak, but not out of hopelessness or fear: but of gratefulness for sheer beauty, for mountains and clear ocean and lolling seals, for a Mom who always know what my soul needs.

I found my peace last weekend, and I will find it a little more each time I enter that kayak.

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AdviceMama Says:
Start by teaching him that it is safe to do so.