Nouris(HER)- Doula

I haven't cried a lot in the last few years.  I don't know if it is because I am on anti-depressants or because I can't dare slow down because then I'll feel everything and collapse. 

Either way.  I can't cry.  I can barely feel grief and sadness in the way that I know is true.  It is part of why I can't write.  Why I can't focus on a book, unless it is an audio book and I can listen to it while I do something.  It is hard for me to be still and focus on one thing without wanting to jump around and do something else. 

I've been given the gift of Rachel.  The Nourisher.  She helps nourish mama's after their babies are born.  I am her first adoptive mama client. 

Last week she made a meal and I sat in my room and did needle work.  I drank tea and listened to an audio book.  (Multi-tasking, I know...but still it felt quieter.)  My room was messy but I had those moments and someone else was making a warm meal, and being there to love my kiddos while I had a few moments.  And it happened.  I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes.  The quiet space.  The nourishment of someone caring for me.  Tea, needle and thread, and written words spoken over me.  I didn't cry but I felt that part of me open up a tiny fraction.

It happened again today.  Rachel came today and we talked, we cooked, and I shared and she helped me make my house ready for Sabbath.  Then when it was time for her to go my heart did that funny fraction cracking.  Again, tears stung the back of my eyes.  Not crying.  Not yet.  But the fraction cracking.

And so I wanted to write this down.  Part of the healing I have been praying for and working toward? 

This space of care that Rachel is bringing.  I didn't know what to expect.  It is so hard to ask for help but I knew I would need it even if I didn't want to ask for it.  So I asked for this help before Eden came home.  Knowing I would still be struggling three months in.  (I am.)  I didn't expect to begin to feel space for tears.  Space for sadness.  Space to feel what I don't have time to feel.  I don't even know what I feel or what the sting of tears is for.  But I have space now.  Whatever it is feels important.  But not like a mountain is important but like the lichen covering a rock is important. 

Is it the space that gives a place for the tears and ache I haven't felt?  Or haven't been able to invest in.  Truly, I think it started when my grandfather died.  I couldn't grieve so far away in South Korea, alone from family.  I tried to grieve better when Aunt Teresa died.  But I didn't know about how when I was still far from family.  Then my student Marissa died.  I couldn't grieve in front of my students, I had to be strong.  Then later Caitlin died, and how could I grieve that when I had to teach.  Then later Emma came home and there was surgery.  Heart failure.  More surgery.  I couldn't cry or be weak I had to gain information from the doctors to keep abreast to the best care for Emma.  I just can't cry.  I am a mama and I don't know how to do that and care for my kids.  Is that why the space for me gives me that? 

I don't know but I am thankful.  Thankful for Rachel and her nourishing care. 

Finding My Writing Voice

I have loved writing since I can remember.  My first story was "The Flower Who Had No Friends."  I laugh now to think of it, realizing that my melancholy was expressed through my writing.

Later I would use writing to express my dark sadness at a sophomore in high school.  A way to express myself and yet express it in a safe place.

Recently I have wanted to write.  I have so much to process but I don't have time or space.  So I want to try and create space for  myself.  I need this outlet.  Even if no one reads it I need this space.

I want to find my writing voice.  Whatever form it takes.  I miss writing.  I use writing as  way to process what is happening.  And I desperately feel like I need to process.  Because I am drowning in the space I am in. Desperate to rid myself of all that pressed me down. And I am also parched.  Desperate for more.

So I am trying to write again.  It is a process. 

I've started writing during my time with God in the morning.  It isn't as much as I used to write in the mornings but it is something.  After the kids are in bed I write my blessings.  Happy things from the day and print one or two little pictures from the day. 

These are my tiny writings.  I found poetry/prose prompts but my creativity is dead so I haven't tried one yet.  Maybe after I have been writing a little in the morning and a little at night I will reopen my heart and mind and pen to the release of writing that it brings. 

For now, I will also try to use this space.  Trying to write and trying to remember that writing is good for my heart and soul.