Dear September,
In this moment I am grateful for clarity. That deep, fire in my belly clarity that moves me away from situations that no longer nourish my spirit. I am grateful for my husband’s love, which is steady, grounded, solid. I am grateful for our daughter’s beautiful, fresh innocence; and for our son’s growing body, his kind wisdom, and the path that is unfolding before him. I am grateful for grief because it is raw and real, and I’m not interested in anything less. Grief fights back and clings on. But when I breath into grief, give it space and stillness, stay present and feel what I don’t want to feel, this grief will gently tap open my heart & for that, I am grateful.
My past self would be proud of me for moving to NYC, for pursuing my studies, for beginning Aikido training, for setting up my private practice- a leap of faith because I just couldn’t keep doing what I had been doing any longer. My past self would be proud of me for never giving up on love, because even though we didn’t know it at the time, we really were destined for each other. That strong, centered, quiet man, whose hug felt like home, would be my husband, and we would have our babies. My past self would be proud that I believe in talking about what is difficult, messy, uncomfortable. That I understand marriage healed my heart, but it’s not to be taken lightly and it’s never to be taken for granted. My past self would be proud that I experience a love for our kids unlike anything I could have imagined, and that mothering has also humbled me to the core. She would probably be pretty amazed that I’m actually doing all this “adult” stuff because there were moments when just taking care of me was more than I could handle.
Defining moments that shaped my life have been moments of discovery. Discovering that being a highly sensitive person, an intuitive, an empath, is a strength rather than a weakness. Discovering that light and love live in the shadows of shame, and when ones traces shame down to it’s core, it’s wholeness that awaits. Discovering that healing integrates, then transcends traditional approaches. These are all truly defining moments, but there was one very early moment that came to mind as I write this letter. As a child I remember looking for the realm of heaven. I didn’t realize this was what I was looking for, there wasn’t a name for this place in my mind, it was simply a memory of peace and beauty, vibrant colors and wonderful feelings. I suspected they had forgotten, the adults, or we would have visited by now. I knew it was real so it had to be close. And not finding it in the one spot I decided it must be hiding, changed something in me. I understood that wherever I was, it wasn’t here with me. I was on my own, separated from my magic, in this place with muted colors and less joy. I knew we weren’t supposed to be feeling the way everyone seemed to be feeling, not bad exactly, not sad exactly, but not the joy I knew was our natural state. Thank you September Letters, for reminding me of this defining moment, and what I now realize was the first step on my journey.
Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
– Mary Oliver
It was this line in a Mary Oliver poem that brought me back into the wild preciousness of life. Following the death of my dad, during a time one of our children was sick, it was this wild preciousness that made me warrior up, and do what needed to be done to protect our child, to push back, to trust my instincts, to break rules, to get angry, to not accept no. And as we found our answer for our child, these same words guided me inward, to heal my own wild, wounded, precious heart.
What small thing do I do for myself or others that helps me stay strong and proud of myself? Not long ago, that would have been easy to answer. Aikido. A personal, meaningful part of my life that was a small thing because it was easy for me to walk through the door. I felt strong because of the training and proud to be part of this community. I loved the challenge, the friendships, the humility, the philosophy. But Aikido is no longer a safe activity, and for those who practice, we understand that when we return it will be different.
But now? In this liminal space? I’m going with green juice and laughter. Yes, green juice & laughter! Green juicing because I feel so much better when I do, and eventually so much worse when I don’t. I feel proud of myself when I juice, even though I do it (almost) every day, because it’s a healthy ritual of self care. It’s reassuring and familiar. Thank you celery and kale, for continuing to be your vegetable selves.
Then there is laughter.
I love to laugh with our kids, at myself, at my own jokes if I’m feeling goofy. We all laugh at our dog’s wiggly happy dance, when he chases his tail ferociously, or falls asleep on his back, perfectly balanced, with his legs in the air. Laughing with close friends on a text chain that becomes so hilarious, so perfectly spot on absurd, that I laugh until I cry, reminds me I am human, I am loved, I am seen, I am not alone.
With love,
Ana Tucker LCSW, MPH, CHt