Brutal. But write I must.
My handwriting almost illegible, my spelling atrocious, grammar non-existent. Stress-induced sleep deprived, imbalanced hormone driven drivel is not all I am capable of, but if for now it is all I produce, so be it. I accept my present limitations and I ask you to as well. As a woman writer this is my right; to let myself be as I am, part and parcel of my becoming.
On the other hand, I do not accept the walls I have erected to keep myself small and fearful. These I boldly reject all the while consciously redressing my own deconstruction.
How to do this gently? In softness I acquiesce, bow to all which is larger than my small self. I admire my former scaffolding, apply curiosity to all situations, wander with a childlike sense of wonder. In place of cursing I find myself mumbling "so be it", and "it is thus", and humbly " I will begin again."
Transformation is a strange land and I accept its invitation to traverse its peaks and valleys.
But I do not accept blindly. I've done that in a previous dark night which lasted the better part of a year. Trembling, stumbling, gracelessly fumbling my way towards some kind of wonderful for which I'd only had the slightest prior inclination.
That was years ago. My children still babes in arms. Now they are growing into selves I never could have imagined in my wildest dreams. For this I am so thankful.
And now I sense a need within calling me towards another large creation movement. It asks for an increased willingness to engage in my own life. I accept with a knowing that allows room for uncertainty and insecurity. In fact, I welcome these former foes as friends. "Come in, where there is room in the heart there is room at the table." And what greater feast than your own life!
As I begin to feast, I recognize that those feelings of vulnerability, uncertainty and insecurity, rise and fall like the morning sun. But at sundown I will not descend into the darkness and remain there. I see these feelings now as portents of new growth. Potent fields of latent energy demanding my mindful attention and, more importantly, my kindness and nurturing. I am like my south facing garden; fecund and wild one day and frost kissed, withered and blackened the next. Life happens. Death and rebirth happen too.
I have given birth many times before; to my own three beloved children and to many selves, not all of whom I have had the energy to fully acknowledge. Their persistence is dogged and I must pay attention.
Typical and unfortunate both, mid-life finds me heavily cloaked. At an age where acknowledgment feels like an honour garment, I must remove layers in order to reveal my truth.
I am capable. I am worthy.
In concession, I remind myself kindly:
Take a deep breath woman. Just because the tide is coming in doesn't mean you need to flee the waters. Let the sea of life be cause to dive deeper into your own myth. Allow yourself to rise naked, shivering and exalted. There is no other time than now. The beauty you behold is worthy of your attention. Forget all that tells you no and become the yes your heart knows you are meant to be.
In warmth and possibility,
Jill
