I haven’t written in months, not like this. Sharing little pieces of my life feels liberating somehow. Like I’m carrying less of it alone. And when I read the stories of others, I feel that same connection.
I’ve been carrying grief in my womb, both literally and figuratively. That’s been true for a long time. But only recently over the last year have I allowed that to be true and given it permission.
More and more I’m seeing now that there is some grief, some sorrow, some wounds that live etched in my psyche that might always be there. They are written indelibly— big and black and bold. They cannot be erased. They cannot be hidden.
They may never heal. There are parts of me that will always have cracks and scratches and breaks. And those parts might always need my dressing. My mothering.
But what a beautifully healing thing to finally allow what might always be tender; to soften the edges instead of making them wrong.
They are not wrong.
They are honest.
And real.
And true.
It is my job now to tend to them as best as I’m able. To love them warm so they don’t harden. It’s my job to soothe them so they don’t lash or bite.
Nobody can do that for me.
And what a privilege, to be entrusted with the broken slivers of a once perfectly formed heart. To be the caretaker tasked with the intimate process of piecing them all back together. To love the parts that would have otherwise been discarded.
It’s ironic— I’ve never been happier, and yet, what I see now is that even in my joy I am a map of where I have been, and there has been heartbreak.
Like Rumi said, “you have to keep breaking your heart until it opens”.
A pure, simple, unassuming joy fills most of my days, but parallel to that joy is grief that lives in this body.
Perhaps the more willing we are to experience our grief, to give it voice and volume and space, the more capacity we have to hold both the sorrow and the joy. And what a gift, to feel the fullness of the spectrum of our experiences. To let ourselves be a map of a life so fully lived.
All of it is you.
The tapestry of a history woven together perfectly, to create the version you have evolved to be.
Holding both is reverent, and when we do, there’s an aching beauty that follows; a wholeness. Letting it all exist simultaneously starts to put back together the broken pieces.
And as I write these words, which I’ve done quickly and without thought as I sit journaling beside my altar, I feel myself untangling from what I’ve been holding so tightly for weeks:
The lump in my womb.
The ache in my ribcage.
The soreness in my joints.
The clenching of my throat.
What’s inside must come out, but first, it needs permission.
In case you’re new to this space, I want to share an offering I have beginning in September. It’s an intimate 14-week online women’s group program. It’s powerful, special, and transformative, and will guide you through the life-changing experience of reconnecting with your body, realigning with nature, and remembering your authentic, fullest expression. Join us, or find out more here. The women entering this sacred space are incredible, and we’d love to have you.