an evening...

what is real (march 8)

it was a day.

one of those.

one part beauty and one part oh my god how did i get here with a dash of just do it girl.

i changed out of pajamas by 10.

so that felt like perfection.

by 10:15 i had apples+sweet potatoes sweetly kissed (ahem) in various spots of my shirt + purple dress i had put over my yoga pants to feel like i was actually dressed like i might leave the house.

one piece of toast eaten was at some point.

thank god it had peanut butter on it as it ended up needing to last me until jon brought something home around 4:30.

in the midst of that there was an answer from the universe disguised as a (thank you for you) phone call with a friend.

and a nap was taken by someone other than me.

a short nap.

a seriously girl you have got to be kidding me short nap.

and a dog breathed her is that really your breath breath in my face while seeking attention.

i let her kiss me.

i think she was after the apples+sweet potatoes.

somewhere in there i began to dream about going to a bookstore and out to dinner.

but the i think i will be fussies arrived in full swing. 

the maybe i am just gonna go ahead and get two more teeth fussies.

or perhaps it is the i am just not feeling happy fussies.

hopefully it isn't the i feel a cold coming adventure.

so i found myself just holding on.

the to do list as always tapping at the corner of my mind while i sang about rainbows and changed the words to several songs while playing peekaboo.

a lunch/early dinner arrived via jon.

and i found myself saying maybe i could just run over to the bookstore.

after you eat.

just me.

okay was the reply.

a change of clothes.

a decision that three-day-old dirty hair actually starts looking good on the eve of day four.

add boots.

gotta have them boots.

plus the happy yellow purse.

and into the car i went.

alone.

a.l.o.n.e.

i sang loudly as i crossed the bridge with the sun almost setting and the olympic mountains peeking through the clouds.

loudly.

"and i'm gonna drive thru the hills with my hand out the window and sing till i run out of words."*

then wandered and gathered goodness at the bookstore.

so. much. goodness.

including two more notebooks because we all agree i need more of those.

then had the reminder that bad customer service in adorable children's stores always helps me save my money.

(guess she missed the boots.)

and then a call from home.

all was okay in the way it is when someone knows you need a deep breath but has a question.

do you need me to come home?

we are okay the response.

so maybe i will try that wine bar flitted through my mind.

one glass and time with some new to me sharon olds and an at the ready notebook.

and then i looked across the parking lot and said out loud or i could go to a movie.

(right now)

totally alone.

immersed in something other than all that must get done or those who need me for almost two hours.

alone.

i actually felt my heart quicken.

totally alone.

another call.

just text if you need me.

within minutes a moment to myself in the bathroom where i looked in the mirror and laughed because i felt like i was playing hooky for the first time ever.

in my whole life.

the good girl playing hooky.

with a side of popcorn+frozen coke+darkness+a row to myself+silly previews+johnny depp.

on the way home, i turned the dial up even more.

"and i'm gonna drive to the ocean, go skinny dipping, blow kisses to venus and mars."*

yes.

(soon.)

*from "wedding day" by rosie thomas

the pieces.

a few hours into labor . june 2, 2010 (photo by our doula patti ramos) 

Today, the scar that has not gotten smaller or faded, the scar that sits just beneath my belly, hurts. It hurts as though Ellie was born last week and not almost eight months ago. There is so much the doctor did not go over when she sounded like the last moments of a medical commercial as she listed all that might happen. She left out the parts about how my skin would be numb (perhaps forever) and that the scar would just hurt some days and that my body would still be reacting in unexpected ways months later. She left out a lot of things that became part of the story that makes up who I am on this day.

The part of me that is the realest me has a visceral reaction when I think about that doctor. The doctor who I met just hours before my daughter was born. I am pushed by some momentum outside myself to say that I am grateful. Of course, I am grateful that my little girl sleeps down the hall even after her intense entry into this world, and I am grateful that I am here writing these words.

But, I give myself permission to say that I am not grateful for pieces of what happened after I met that doctor.

In this moment, with the scar hurting and my baby girl asleep down the hall, I push myself to remember the beauty of the first 18 hours when I was in labor. My contractions were so close and intense that we all thought Eleanor Jane would arrive so very soon, but the story was to go another way. After many hours, the story involved medication and a doctor who allowed me to push for hours longer than I should have even though they knew a cesarean was imminent and an epidural wearing off in surgery and a woman experiencing the most significant trauma of her life with her minutes-new-to-this-world baby daughter’s cheek against hers and a decision not to start screaming but instead to find the place deep inside me filled with more courage than I thought possible, to just breathe, and then firmly say, “No, I am experiencing pain not pressure” and then more emotional trauma in the minutes and days that followed as no one quite understood what had happened to the woman who was awake during a surgery where the epidural wore off but she didn’t start screaming.

Months later, as the fears of what might happen have quieted just a bit in the months following Ellie Jane’s open-heart surgery, I have found myself sitting inside a bit of space to begin to unpack all that happened in those first few days of June. My heart and body went through a lot in those days. And for many reasons, I was not given the space (I was not in a place to give myself the space) that I needed. Just as we held Ellie Jane and took care of her in those first few days and in all the days that followed, I needed my own moments to be held. I needed someone to put her hands on my face and look me in the eyes and say, “What you went through should not have happened. I am so sorry you had to go through this. Even though I know you are grateful that she is here, I wish it had happened another way for both of you.” And then, I needed that person to hold me while I cried myself to sleep.

Yet, as I sit here with my daughter asleep down the hall, I look at the photo at the top of this post, and I remember how there was bravery and a feeling of being rooted in the best of who I am. I remember that there was music and there was dancing and there was chanting and a sense that nothing else existed but love. I remember the joy of knowing each breath meant one breath closer to seeing her face. I remember the kindness of women I had never met and how my husband was his most confident, calm self. I push myself to remember because this is part of the story; this is part of the woman who sits here gathering up the pieces of herself as she stands in the truth.

*****

Today, I am giving myself the space to share some of my story here, to share a few more of the pieces of the last year that have made it the most difficult one of my life. No drama. Just truth. As I sit in the quiet and listen, it feels like sharing these pieces today and writing more over time is part of the healing that is to come. I feel moved to gently say that I am not seeking advice about where I am nor do I want to invite you to worry about me, as this post is just a part of what makes up the woman writing these words. This woman also spent a good part of today singing and listening to her daughter's laughter and brainstorming and creating talismans to send out into the world. This woman who is me spends much of each day gathering up the beauty that makes up this life. I spend a lot of time sifting through the realness to find the light and the joy. But I also know we must look at the truth and open our hearts to this truth.

Sharing these truths, being willing to look at the cracks and broken places, is how we heal. I believe this. And I believe that we can have the best intentions in our desires to help someone, but in doing so, we sometimes don’t realize that they are not seeking our help. Or sometimes what seems like help is really a desire to fix. Fixing and helping are not the same. I know this because I have been guilty of being a “fixer.” I know this because in the past year people have tried to fix when we needed love. The last few months have taught me the beauty that can be found in simply just showing up and shining your light when you see someone else is walking through a bit of darkness (we all walk through a bit of darkness). I want to write more about this soon…the idea of just showing up and being open to what a person most needs (and saying the words “what do you need?”) instead of believing there is something to fix. (Sometimes broken places do not need fixing.)

Thank you for catching these pieces of me and shining your light in this world…

i want to tell you...

windowsill . frog creek lodge, fall 2010 be present retreat

in the time i am spending in my studio creating necklaces this month, i have been brainstorming about the many things i want to tell you here.

(there is so much i want to tell you.)

i want to tell you about the beauty that can be found when you slow down, close the laptop, and look at your life.

i want to tell you about how my heart often aches because my body and soul have been through so much in the last 16 months. (so much has happened.) i want to tell you the pieces of this truth and about how i am trying to stand still in the healing waters.

i want to tell you about how i have begun to let go of a belief that life is about finding balance between work and family and seems to be more about finding you and what makes your heart rest inside truth when you stand eye to eye with yourself.

i want to tell you about rocking ellie to sleep at night while i chant a song from my teacher and how this has become an act of self-nurturing.

i want to tell you about how hard it is to take in kind words even when you know they are real.

i want to tell you (i want to tell me) about how it feels not to receive what you are asking for and how this sadness still becomes part of the healing.

i want to tell you about how powerful the mirror meditation continues to be as part of my personal practice. there are moments when i feel as though i might be fading away, but the act of taking a deep breath and looking in the mirror always pushes me to be seen.

i want to tell you about these fantastic boots i have been wearing and how they make me feel like i could truly kick some serious ass.

i want to tell you about how all that has happened in the last year has taught me that the best thing you can do when someone is experiencing some major stuff is to listen and then say a variation on, "is there anything i can do?" and mean it.

i want to tell you about what you might want to think about doing if your friends find themselves in the ICU with a loved one.

i want to tell you about how things are not always what they seem (and how i think we should throw open the windows to let assumptions of the destructive kind float on out of our lives).

i want to tell you about all that is inspiring me these days.

i want to tell you about how much i want to start heading to seattle on sundays for my teacher's yoga class, but thinking about hearing her nurturing voice makes me fear that i might cry the entire time.

yes, there is so much i want to tell you...maybe i will begin with this list.

until then, perhaps you could tell me something about you...what do you most need to tell someone?

what is real (january 10)

this is the face of a woman who has been given permission to close the notebook that houses almost every feeding from her child's birth until this morning. (seven months of keeping data.)

as she heals and her body lives with all that is, i am pressing and sewing and taping and gluing hope and light and truth and letting go and love and forgiveness into all the cracks.

("what is real" is a series of photos i began taking in july of 2010. read a bit more about this series here. see more photos from this series over on flickr here.)

we breathe in, we breathe out (what is real)

our friend jules holds ellie's hand, holds us . october 9, 2010

with each breath, ellie is one step further on the healing path.

she breathes on her own.

she looks into our eyes.

she tells us her story.

and i stand beside her, catching it, holding the space, breathing in and out.

and as her heart heals, mine continues to somehow hold together with masking tape and purple thread pulled tight and dabs of glue and sticks from curly willows woven through here and there and the whispered prayers and blessings from so many lights in this world.

(thank you)

yes.

this is what is real.