clarity

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The last post I wrote on here was called "foggy waters" and indeed things felt foggy then. Things feel clearer now. 

Crazy to think that last post was on November 18th. It feels like far longer ago than that! A month and a half only... those days in between feel hard-won.

Anyway, it felt like time for an update. 

A lot of the questions in that last post have been answered. Yes, we're breaking up. Yes, there is hope - but not about us getting back together. It's hope for the baby, for us as co-parents. For our family (extended) to crack apart and then mend in a new way. We're doing pretty good at that so far. We're gathering the stuff the baby will need, and we're communicating well. The support of my own parents and brother has been invaluable. Yes, I will thrive again.  I can feel the buds of that appearing. Yes, I will have my own place. (There is one in the works, I just haven't moved in yet.) 

A lot of the things I mentioned as helping me through the dark patches are still what gives me life. Friends, and their texts, and laughing with them - LIFE. Music, old from my past or new, introduced to me - MORE LIFE. Writing about it - in my journal, in drafts in my email for future posts. In texts to friends. Same: LIFE. These things remind me I am alive, I am bad-ass, I am getting through. I CAN get through. 

I picked a word for this year, and it is GROW. On Instagram I wrote: "What I'm interested in inviting into my life this year is... growth. Both that of my baby (in the next month and a half she or he is growing to full-term, being born and then there is all the growth after that), and of myself. I'm growing as a person too... becoming a mother. Living on my own for the first time since I was 18. (I had room-mates after my first apartment on my own, and then lived with my partner for five years.) Going through a separation is a painful process and the last three months of 2017 were about things breaking apart, and me feeling broken. I want to *heal*, to feel *joy*. I want to respect the process of course - not just pretend I'm not sad when I'm sad - but I want to welcome in the positive growth that is part of this process too."

Right now the growth feels hidden. Under snow, in the case of the garden and the woods. Under my own skin, in the case of the baby that I cannot yet see, but who is slowly getting bigger every day, getting ready to be born. (Holy shit!) And hidden beyond this moment, in the future, unknown, in the case of everything else - my new place, when it will be ready, how I'll move in, what I'll need, how the birth will go. 

But just because I can't see it, doesn't mean it's not happening. Secret small things are unfurling, are building off each other, are becoming real and new. GROWTH is surprising, GROWTH is ancient and yet brand new. Growth is happening. 



 

Foggy waters

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  1. I've got the feeling of being scrubbed raw. A layer taken off your soul. I know, that sounds dramatic. But it's real. 
  2. Christmas is a-coming. I want to pick out gifts for the people I love but I'm damn tired. I think I'll make a Pinterest board instead. Everyone's getting gift cards! In the meantime I'll be here listening to Michael Buble's Christmas album.
  3. I love that feeling when you remember an album that feels like it speaks right to you. In lyrics, in beats, in stories. Right now it's HERE by Alicia Keys. Earbuds in, and this is like juice right to me. 
  4. Someday, I think. I'll be thriving again. What will that look like? What will that feel like? Will I have my own place? Will I have money issues? What's going to happen to me? To me and the kiddo? What will life look like? 
  5. Driving an hour each way every day. Staying with my mother. Wondering how much to say publicly. Who to tell. The word like a whisper, a crack in ice spreading. "Break-up." A tragedy some minutes. A revelation, a freedom, in others. He hasn't told anyone yet except his parents. Why not? Is this happening or is it not? 
  6. Is there hope? I don't know. Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. Will we get back together? I mean, who can tell the future? And if they could, would I believe them? 
  7.  Breathe. "Pick a word and just focus on that," or whatever the book said.
  8. The night, so dark. I get out of my car and there are no outside lights on. It is pitch black. I feel so alone. I stand in the middle of the driveway and sob. 
  9. Other times I am laughing, at movies or at tweets or at other things. Other times I am texting with close friends and it is OK. It is going to be OK. 
  10. I write here because it's my space. My writing space. "You could just keep it in a journal," says the critic in my head. Yeah, but... I've been doing that. For a month now. And I'm starting to feel ready to let people know, people other than my nearest and dearest. There is still hope we'll get back together, but there is also reality. This is my reality right now. Pregnant. Broken up. Navigating the foggy waters, seeing what life will look like. What it does look like, right now. One day at a time. And, I'm remembering, this is what I do, to get through. I write about it. (It helps that I don't think anyone reads this blog unless I specifically point them to it with a link from Instagram.)
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Cozy

gingercat

At my mother's house. Cozy, nesting. Resting. A place to cocoon and protect and heal. This cat helps.