A Date of Reflection
It's been a dizzying week. Ive felt like I've pulled away from everyone like a recluse. Unsettled, with lingering uncertainty of multiple interactions, I figured that was the entire reason why I've felt so anxious. Then I went to set my alarm for tomorrow morning.
4/29.
Four years ago, I left for a brief escape to settle my soul. My heart was breaking and I didn't know what direction to take footing. So I set off for the shore and nestled into the cozy cabin by the lake. I needed grounding, I needed rest.
Four years ago I was breathing in the crisp, damp air of a spring sunset. I was saying good night to the moon, and the waters sang me to sleep. Oh how those shores can speak to me. Those waves have a dialect like no other body of water could have. Once you've heard them, they can no longer be replaced by any melodies of the greatest rivers or fountains. The shore rocks dance smoothly with the borrowed water that washes over them and through their gaps. Water so perfectly choreographed, teasingly pulling away before anxiously returning, as rhythmic and soothing as the air in our lungs.
Four years ago, I went to sleep uncertain of my path, but peaceful in my heart.
The next evening, I unleashed a monster and unwillingly became a prisoner of an unwanted war.
There is so much I cannot speak about - I do not use the term 'prisoner' lightly. April 29th both set me free and condemned me for life. This makes for intricate pathways of ever changing emotion. There is no happiness without sadness, no celebration without collapse. And there's grief, lots of grief.
Like a tide on a shoreline, it's almost as if my body recognizes the timing before my eyes do, and then I see it: April 29th. Do I hate the date? Am I grateful for it? Rather- it's neither. It's a date of reflection. To pause. To make space. To sit with my feelings. To give myself a hug. To recognize my actions, those for my kids and for myself. To assure that my actions still align with who I am proud to be.
And day to simply grieve.
Sometimes pausing to grieve is the greatest gift you can give yourself. Allow yourself this time, to make room for gratefulness in your heart.
