There’s something so lonely about dealing with chronic STUFF and going it ‘alone’. I mean in the parent, family sense. But as my parent self develops, this yearning, this desperate longing to just pick up the phone and tell someone how hard it is, to have someone hug me and tell me it’s going to be okay, have someone make me tea when all I can do is cuddle my duvet and wish for myself to feel better, I am able to do this to myself. Call myself up (metaphorically). Tell my self I’m proud of her. Tell my self I’m there for her. Tell her ‘my love, it sounds so hard’ – to not just try to make things better but to sit with my self that’s struggling and just be with her. In her pain, in her glory – of the little and the big. To tell her she’s enough. To tell her things are going to be okay. To tell her she doesn’t have to push herself anymore, and to guide her when I know it’s safe to gently step into new terrain or take on a challenge that’ll nurture.
Today I went to my new job for an hour and fifteen minutes. I had cranio sacral today and I know I needed to rest. But I know I also needed to go to work, to not just stay at home – today I needed to meet that desire to push myself. I knew staying at home I’d fester in the dialogue of shit. Instead I went to work and left, but as I was walking out the door, I was so worried to go home and leave because I was terrified of the self hating, worrying, chatter that would unfold the minute I stepped outta the door. The minute I got home and just focused on nourishing and nurturing myself. But instead what happened made me cry.
I noticed I immediately wanted to call a friend, to tell them what happened – that I’d had to leave work – and how I was finding it so hard to be so ill, still. But I didn’t, I sat with that need and told myself how this is so hard, I’m so scared, how do I know things are going to be okay, I just want to be well…and then I heard my parenting self listen. I felt her heart open and allow for my wounded younger self. I felt her arms embrace the desperate need to just be held and told things are going to be okay. And when I cried, is when I heard her tell myself “I’m proud of you. I’m proud of you for leaving work early. I’m proud of you for listening to yourself. I’m proud of you for not just following old patterns. I’m proud of you for trusting you can nurture yourself and look after yourself and follow your needs, and things to be okay. I’m proud of you for not thinking you have to do this all yourself. I’m proud of you for trusting how you’re changing and how you don’t need to be your battling-on old self. I’m proud of you for not listening completely to your inner self hating critic and for choosing to listen to me instead.”
On the way home I have come and sat under a tree in a nearby little park. I just had a craving for the feel of a tree trunk behind on back. The feeling of being held by the other mother I know – Mother Earth. I realise that my parenting self gets lost and quieter when I’m not connecting with nature. When I’m not allowing myself to be nourished and held, and inspired by the only parent I truly know, I lose the familiarity with the feeling of being parented. Until now, nature must have been the only way I was meeting the need of being/feeling parented. I have known that for a while I think, it’s just only ‘clicked’ now. She’s the one solid parent I know I can trust. The destruction and the neglect our earth faces leaves me aware of the delicateness of the thing, the person, I love and need and have. But, I trust her – nature’s – ability to withstand a hell of a lotta shit and still be there, in whatever form she is. She’ll somehow still always be there. Like a healthy parent is. Not like the twisted one I’d always known.
Recently my craving for nature has taken itself to another level, and now I know why. I’m feeding the part of me, the self, that I’m in the early days of getting to know. By nourishing her with moments in the places I feel safe and understood and never alone, I nourish the rest of me with a growing trust for this parenting part of me.
That’s pretty fucking beautiful.