I am letting go of forever’s and reveling in small moments. I am churning in the vat of mother’s guilt and despair seeking the reassurance of my children’s smiles. Are you okay? Are you happy?
Of course they are not.
They are huddled in one room with wild hair and crooked teeth. They don’t know where to put their small limbs as they spread within this space. It is not home. It is not the same. It is peppered with chaos and novelty and I am overwhelmed with the task of making it home, for now. I mention the new pets, the happy faces who live here. Our new family, of sorts.
I have to rise against my doubts repetitively to accept that I am worth this, and they are too. That we will be okay in the end. That I will get better at this, soon. I map our week with good food, playful conversations and freedom. It is all I can do. I choose honest moments and long moments of eye contact. Because it’s all we have. It is in these things that they know they have me – even when everything is else has changed.
“Is it okay if you share this bed with me? This room with me? This meal with me?” I cannot give you anymore right now. I have nothing other than me. (God let me be enough!) And that is it, being enough to soften the blow of great change. To be in the space and truth of different and remain powerful enough to be all that they need – often in spite of my own stuff.
I ask the moments to slow down when we are in the car singing our favourite songs. I love the way they throw their heads back in full verse – little eyes and crooked teeth. It reminds me to be like them, so I throw mine back too. They leap out of my car and I’m standing on the shore of a stormy ocean, waiting for the tide to rush in only to feel it recede again, and I hope that the nervous space in my belly can hear me singing now. Can you hear me?
For all the books and advice, there is a motion to separation. It is one foot in front of the other. A breathing into wider spaces. A sense of freedom and terror at any given moment. And a loss of the person I was to become. Like a death, those images will fade into less than memories, only concepts. And that is part of the learning.
The re-birthing of Me.
So I let it take me to the places I had long let go of, and the woman I had too. I let it hurt and let it pass finding myself standing, often on the cliff-edge of my age and possibility. I revel in the world of Me, long forgotten and unseen. I forgive my Self for that. But not for the tears that ran down my children’s faces when the words fell from my mouth, those splintering seconds when I tore their tiny hearts apart…mummy is leaving.
Some shit you take to your grave.
I have no solutions. But I promise me this – I have no judgment of the path I am on. I have pulled apart my rib-cage for my soul to be free, no matter what it takes – this is a part of My Story.
Melanie Robinson ND Earth-Mother of 2 boys, Naturopath, Presenter at IGNITE 2015 – Food as Medicine, Feeler, Dreamer, Writer, Woman, Warrior….