Healing wounds

Today another shift. Another letting go.

This afternoon I gave away some of my favorites of Ada’s baby clothes. I will be selling some, giving away most of the rest and keeping a few for a legacy blanket (thanks to wholly jeanne for the idea and the support). This feels good and makes my heart ache at the same time. I need to let them go, to create space for what is to come and I need to honor the dreams that spent time in those vacuum sealed bags. Dreams of another child, of pulling those clothes out again for daughter number two or giving them happily away when a son came along. Going through them, I remembered the way Ada looked in a certain outfit, or how I felt when I bought it, or how I wished I’d realized something fit smaller than it should have and I’d missed the window because they grow – she grew – so fast.

So many memories, so much love.

I’m also clearing space inside. The magician discovered today that I feel guilty about sleeping well (what?!) and that it’s tied, once again, to beliefs formed by a little girl who didn’t understand the world around her. We pass emotions and beliefs on generationally without realizing. I wonder what Ada is getting from my current struggles, my grief, my growth. I hold out hope that her light is bright enough to withstand the current storm; that my attempts to turn my face in the direction of ease, love and presence will temper the moments when she feels responsible for what’s happening in our home. Because she’s a child and that’s what children do. It’s what I did. Inside me there’s a little girl who feels responsible for every tear her mother shed, a little girl who took on someone else’s journey as her own.

The same therapist who told me to dance used to ask me, What did you do that was so horrible, so wrong? There is no logical answer to that question from an adult point of view. But somewhere down in the fish poop is the belief that I am not worthy of a marriage that works, a child that lives, work that I love. It’s well buried at this point, this belief. I don’t know when I would have uncovered it if Ben hadn’t died. Grief has me diving deep and stirring things up that I thought were resolved, staring into the looking glass and falling down rabbit holes. This time, I’ve got help. Amazing healers keep appearing in my life and through the pain I hold the vision of myself shining brightly, hand in hand with those I love.

Right now the wounds are open, gaping, raw. I want them to heal clean this time, from the inside out. It’s time to help my inner little girl grow up.

Sweet thing, it’s not your fault. Let go.

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0 Responses to Healing wounds

  1. Renae C says:

    You are amazing. I admire the courage that it takes, not only to take this journey into the depths of yourself, but to share it so openly here with us. I pray healing salve for those wounds, the old old ones and the new. That they would indeed heal, from the inside out, this time. Your light is already shining, but I hope that you can see how bright it is very very soon.

  2. 4ceiba says:

    What a beautiful visual, letting go to make space.

  3. Jessica M. says:

    “Amazing healers keep appearing in my life and through the pain I hold the vision of myself shining brightly, hand in hand with those I love.” – beautifully said. What a great post. You are a strong women Alana. I know you will find a way to make space for the smiles that you DO deserve! <3

  4. Somer says:

    I love you! Gorgeous. Total purpose and healing.

    I crossed-posted your link on my dear friend, Shannon’s site. I think you two might grow from each other.

    http://palmerbennett.wordpress.com/2010/10/28/forgive-and-forget/#comment-99

    Big love, Alana.
    Somer

  5. You may very well be the bravest woman I know. Even if my knowledge of you is through your words and this site. I appreciate you sharing your truth with friends and strangers alike. Continue to be courageous.

  6. what a beautiful, powerful post, my friend. it will be a beautiful, powerful legacy cloth you create. you let me know when you’re ready to get started, and remember: the process is called slow cloth. xo

  7. Roos says:

    This post struck me as ligthening and I didn’t feel like writing a comment until now, a couple of days later. “Inside me there’s a little girl who feels responsible for every tear her mother shed, a little girl who took on someone else’s journey as her own.” Those words could have been mine. And I only knew that when I read yours. Kaboom…
    Day in, day out, I try to live my life and keep my boys from my misery thoughts of the past. Those thoughts cloud me sometimes (esp. in this time of year) and I would like to thank you very much for pointing out once more that a parent should nót let their kids be affected by their struggles.
    Also, I played loud music and danced ridiculous in my kitchen today (with my husband and kids away for a walk around the block). I thought of you at that moment and am thinking of you right now. Even if we don’t know each other at all, please know that a mother in Amsterdam far far away is sending you warm thoughts!

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