he doesn’t yet realize that beauty isn’t everything. She doesn’t see the power she possesses, because if she did, she would know that she can literally move mountains to create the life she dreams of. She is real in an increasingly false world. She flourishes in her existence, like a flower pushing through concrete. Her real self shows in every breath she takes.
Even as time seemingly stands still, the change of seasons appears to happen in one rotation of the orb. In a particular day there is no clear division of past, present, or future, but the stages and phases of development show the passing of time through evident change. Through my son I see very plainly that all of life is change, all of life is movement, and it must at least in part be this impermanence that leads me to value the fullness of the moment.
My sisterhood is a tribe of women who move my soul each time we meet. Sisterhood saves you from pain, and at the same time allows you to relieve someone's troubles. Sisterhood is a friend that calls you out on your rubbish, a friend who tells you how proud she is when no one else does. She knows when you’re struggling and is connected so deeply she is able to feel your pain as her own.
Tradition is our link to the past – it is the fiber of our heritage – passed down through generations. They are created in the moments when we realize, “I’ve been here before, I remember this” and in such a way to help guide us towards what to do next. We move forward with purpose by remembering the past. We want to recreate the magical, memorable experiences that we’ve had in order to re-live them, and the familiarity of a repeated moment brings comfort and security.
I was in no way prepared for this motion of motherhood. The physical part, the swaying, the rocking, the walking, the spinning, the carrying and the jiggling, it all seemed endless. A few weeks in I can remember wearily turning to my husband and in a deep dying-animal voice dramatically conceding, “I just can’t bounce anymore!”
When I imagined becoming a Mother, I never pictured more than having a baby in my arms. That was the whole of motherhood that I could imagine for most of my life. Now, that season is almost over for me, but the journey of motherhood has just begun. I’m only 7 years into a journey that will last many decades to come.
Because of these women we have a second chance to be parents. Because of these women I have seen the tiniest of flickers on an ultrasound screen, and heard the sweet thump of my new baby’s heart. I am not yet twelve weeks, that enchanted time when everything begins to feel safer, but I want to greet this experience with the same honesty and openness we approached our last cycle with. So I’ll speak our truth, no matter what comes.
Motherhood is the physical and emotional tied, intricately wrapped, tied, and tangled. It is a swirl of two composites, a delicate dance between the internal and external. It is sometimes trying not to utterly tear at the seams but also learning again and again that love is the thing holding us together. Love is our cocoa butter, the salve of laughter. It is the balloon we blow up and release again.