The car bumped slowly down a track only just visible through the lengthening grass. My eyes stung. Just before we left home, carrying my daughter to the car had caused the ache in my pelvis to intensify. I was as slow-moving as this vehicle picking its way down the hillside. Everyday tasks were as heavy as my swollen belly, and tugged at my shoulders as much as my knees. Who would I be in just a few weeks? How would I manage with two small children? And where does patience and generosity and good cheer go when fatigue and aches bind your life like the thick mat of grey clouds brooding above me? This is what weighed on me the most: I wanted to mother and partner the best I could, to be present with kindness and joy. But in this place of vulnerability I also wanted desperately to coat myself in a brittle shell of crankiness, to wield grumpy as the armor that could hold all my pieces together.
Which mattered more? I had no right to push my pain outwards, and so the vision of greening wild grass splattered with tiny dots of color swam outside my window. I let the pieces I had been clutching so tight fall about me. It didn’t hurt, not any more than the pain that was already there. I felt a kind of softening blur my edges, just as the field blurred my eyes. Quietly, from the passenger seat, without drawing the attention of my husband and daughter, I surrendered to the pain and the fear. My muscles loosened and my heart opened, and they seemed to evaporate into the steel-wool sky. Within a moment, compassion rushed in to fill the spaces that had emptied. I remembered all those around me battling through pain and hurt and confusion, and the efforts they made to show up anyway. And then those colored dots sharpened into focus.
Blushing snow drops were strung along a curved stem of grass. Little star bursts of mauve collected on a thicker stem nearby. The yellow fuzz of dandelions grinned in between. A delicate purple throat swallowed deep and silent. Tiny pink flowers clustered on furry green leaves. The white blossoms of bramble splayed like open palms along the fence. Yet another shade of pink cupped stamen waving flirtily in the breeze. It was exquisite. These tiny wildflowers offered up the best of themselves with no promise of reward. They bloomed according to a schedule written deep in the earth. Their fragile beauty was hidden in their unassuming nature. Rain or no rain, they had arrived as little gifts to whoever happened to pass, and see. Because of my own fragility, I had been open to see. I had felt deeper, because I was there, skin-to-skin with the world, and with nowhere to hide.
Two days before I had prayed to the full moon. I had asked her to transform me. Anxiety about the upcoming transition had caused me to worry what would become of me, how would I keep from losing myself. As I bowed to the moonlight, I remembered that the point isn’t to stay the same, or to stick to the path. Motherhood transforms. Of course I will lose myself. Who I am now will become who I was. But as the peace of the white light drifting down filled my heart and spread to my limbs, I realized that getting lost was the path that would bring me closer to who I was meant to be. I would be made anew, by the grace of Spirit, by the gift of my child, by my befriending of pain and heartache. I would be showed, once again, the strength in softness. I would be washed, once again, by compassion and tenderness and raw physicality. I would lose myself completely in the depths of love and fear and loneliness, and emerge into a world wholly unknown. I would transform into someone’s mother, and I would meet my son.
This post was sponsored by Colleen of the Midlands House of Healing. Our drive through the wildflowers was en route to her therapy room in the misty forests of the Karkloof. Her massage and physical therapy eased my aches, oiled my joints, and aligned my spine. With reiki energy, she communicated with my unborn child, and brought our intuitions into sync for our looming adventure. Dedication to growth takes more than surrender. It also takes eyes to see, and the courage to take the actions that bring you closer to your goal. To book a session with Colleen, contact her on 084 603 0604.
Hello and welcome:) I am a South African artist and mama who believes in mindfulness and living on purpose. I love traveling, reading, yoga, leading our family business, and eating delicious food in beautiful places. And tea. I love tea. Pour yourself a cup and settle in for a read.