When I first entered the uncharted waters which are now my common day to day, I found I was unable to express myself. How could I explain to my husband "what was wrong" when I couldn´t grasp it either? I am a survivor. I have navigated truly dangerous metaphorical storms and come out alive, stronger. My reaction seemed so uncharacteristic of my normally determined self. And so I became silent. It was not that words fell short, but rather that my mind was so overcome with what my heart was experiencing that it simply stopped short and ceased to be coherent, let alone create, enjoy, be... I was emotionally paralyzed and unable to communicate. Me, behind the lense of my camera, was the only place I didn´t feel as defeated by what seemed to be my new found disability. From there I still seemed to be able to express all I cherished, all i missed, all I feared.
This had been me for months, some days better than others, yet all tinged by an air of "no return".
Then I came across a book. Not a regular book. One of those books that seem to speak to your very soul and it´s presence in your life to be anything but coincidental. The words that seem so lovingly and compassionately placed on page after page of "The Gift of an Ordinary Day" seem to magically restore a lost vocabulary to my silently screaming heart. They let me know: I am not alone, I am not going crazy. So it is that I am slowly recovering my inspiration and find soft, warmhearted smiles escaping my lips as I read. I have decided that when I find my own reflection described in these words, I will post. And so it begins, the sharing of my love for those perfect imperfections of everyday life and my path towards letting go, in the words of Katrina Kenison:
"It seemed to me during those early years of child raising that my sons´childhoods would go on forever. I couldn´t imagine any life other than the one that consumed me right then, life shaped by the joys and demands of raising young children."
"...I learned a lot about myself, and many lessons in mindfulness, during those long days. Intense and demanding as they are, the years we spend with our young children can also be deeply, viscerally gratifying. We know exactly where we are needed and what we need to be doing. Immersed in the physical and emotional realm of parenthood, we develop reserves of patience, imagination and fortitude we never dreamed possible. At times the hard work of being a mother seems in itself a spiritual practice, an opportunity for growth and self-exploration in an extraordinarily intimate world, a world in which hands are for holding, bodies for snuggling, laps for sitting."
"...The changes, when they began, were subtle at first. Somehow our treasured family ritual of reading together at bedtime slipped away. No one asked for stories anymore... Baseballs stopped flying in the backyard. A bedroom door that had always been open, quietly closed..."
The Gift of an Ordinary Day: A mother´s Memoir