I feel like I have needed to be in a deep state of slumber. Like a medically induced coma for my creative nervous system, and truthfully for my literal nervous system. To restore myself to sanity, to breath, to faith. I think I am coming back; I hope so anyway.
I have been restless with rest, but allowing at the same time. It is a fine balance that I have had to learn. Forcing patience sounds like a polarity, but it is true for someone who likes to move quickly and efficiently. Rest, healing, and rejuvenation can feel crazy making for someone who lives to create. It is imperative though, the balance of it all. There is a sense of steadiness that clarity and time can bring. True healing is for the non escapist. There is no out; only an in deeper.
There comes a time though, when it becomes time. Time to sit with yourself and begin to create again. Though there might still be much to repair, it is mending. There is more space between breaths. There is a return of ease in the motions of the day. In the rituals of morning coffee, laughter at toddlerhood, and leaning into life again. Too much pressure makes anything pop, so one must release it a little at a time. For me it is through my hands; writing. Be it handwritten, which is my go-to, or through my keyboard. My body recognizes this hand motion and never does well with stagnancy or stillness. The restlessness of it all though does eventually spill itself out onto the page. Gratefully.
I think there are phases of coming back to life. To regaining consciousness after a traumatic season. You can build your foundation back, your home, friends, and repair relationships worth salvaging from the wreckage. Then you can move on from what no longer serves you. But the middle, ah, the middle of healing; she is a beast. It is that look you give yourself in the mirror when you wake and do not recognize who you are any longer. Not merely because of motherhood bags under your eyes, no, this look is different. This is one of conquest, endurance, of salvation. This look is a sturdy one. Totally worn out, but sturdy. You look at her and know she is who she is meant to be.
Let's rise,
