Letter to Little Gretchen

What would it look like if we all took the time to slow down and pay some much needed attention to our inner child? That part of us that is scared, tired, wounded, and looking for a safe place to snuggle up and feel loved. What if we showed the same compassion to ourselves that we showed to our own children? To our friends and loved ones? There's a time and a place for "you just gotta keep going". But these days, I think we need less of that and more permission to stop. To rest. This is my attempt at acknowledging my own inner child and giving her the understanding and nurturing she craves.

Gretchen, darling girl. You are so strong. But you have been through, and are still going through, a lot. It's okay to be afraid. It's okay to feel overwhelmed; to have these big feelings. I know you're hurting. In your body, in your soul. You miss your Momma. Especially as you're learning how to be a mama. It's okay to cry about that. It's okay to cry in general. 

You are safe. I see you. I accept and appreciate you as you are. You will have an Inner Critic nagging you daily, as he is now. That's okay too. Let your critic blab on in the back seat. You're in the drivers seat, and I'm here to tell you that it's okay to pullover, and rest. Stretch your legs, stand amongst the trees, bask in the dappled sunlight, breathe in the fresh air.

You deserve to be loved, nurtured, cherished, honoured, protected, seen, known, appreciated. But it must start with you. So here I am, as your True Self, telling you that I love you, that I honour you, that 

you are worthy. 

I see you, and I love what I see. I appreciate you and all that you are, regardless of what you do or accomplish. Relax, girl. Rest more. Play more. Enjoy the unfolding.

All my love,

Gretchen

Resolving to Blend

Nicole Gulotta writes in her book Wild Words:

"Seeking balance - which feels like we're teetering on the edge, straining to ready ourselves - is not the goal. Instead, let's resolve to blend. Writing, family and work aren't isolated elements but moving parts with constant overlap that can inform, support, and even enhance one another."

I have always said "something's gotta give", as I've juggled writing, dancing, work, a social life, my health, and now motherhood. I throw my energy and focus at one or two things, knowing that whatever I've turned my attention from will suffer. "Balance," I say, "it's all about balance", choosing to see the teeter totter of the scales as balance in action. In reality, constantly letting something slip feels like perpetual failure. Now that I am a mother, I cannot afford this hop scotch approach to life. My daughter must always come first. Does this mean that all the other areas of my life must suffer?

Gulotta is reframing this for me, giving me hope. Blend, she says. The idea that looking after my baby to the best of my ability could possibly "inform, support, and even enhance" my writing - and vice versa - is mind boggling and exhilarating. Can dancing also enhance my mothering? Could writing inform my social life? These paradigm shifting words were only in the introduction of her book. I paused at the beginning of chapter one titled, "The Season of Beginnings" in order to reflect on how apt her words are at this time in our lives. I feel as if she has a window into my life, right down to her observation of stirring the cream in her tea, munching on pumpkin bread to sustain the breastfeeding life, and drying the baby's bottle on a special drying rack that looks like grass. 

Beyond the eerily similar details, the cadence and simple poignancy of her words are speaking straight to my soul. It is as if she has read my journals and is responding to me with a love letter called Wild Words. To believe this book is written for me would be absurd and narcissistic, of course. But I can't help but be awestruck by the relevance of not just her words, but the way in which she weaves them.

Our little family is indeed in a Season of Beginnings. Or perhaps more accurately, a Season of Transition. In the last 9 months since our little one arrived earth-side, we have experienced almost every possible life change. With a new baby came a two job losses, launching our business, a death in the family, another job... and then loss, a decision to launch another side gig, and the plan to move not just houses, but cities in the next few months.

Amidst all of these external changes is our ever-changing baby girl. She is consistent in her joy and exuberance, but she is growing and learning and developing at warp speed. It is as if she is mirroring the shifting patterns of our lives with her own; letting go of old habits and reaching for new and greater things. Literally and figuratively. 

In these special moments of watching her pull herself to standing, or inspect the detail of an object with rapt attention, I am struck by her undivided presence, and I am reminded that I can only be one place at a time. I can move from place to place, from moment to moment, but I am only ever right where I am. It seems obvious, but this is not how we live. We are doing one thing and thinking about another. We call it "balancing". 

But what are we missing in the present moment when we juggle in this way? Perhaps Gulotta's exhortation to blend is about being present. After all, how else can we expect to inform or enhance one area of life with another if we are not truly experiencing those areas? I wondered at the beginning of this essay how motherhood could inform my writing, but now I realize it already has.

So here is to new beginnings, to embracing transitions, relishing in change, and basking in the present moment. 

"Let's resolve to blend."

The Little Things

Hello, old friend.

It's been awhile since I wrote on this blog. I kind of... forgot about it. Moving our lives to Perth, having a baby, and turning our lives upside down in more ways than one has distracted me for over two years. But I can hear the page calling me once again. Many writers know about this phenomenon. The page is always calling, but we only hear it when we slow down enough to listen. 

As the fog of new-motherhood slowly lifts, I find myself eager to return to myself. No, return isn't the right word. Re-discover. Yes, I am eager to rediscover who I am in this new-mama-skin, with a new little human that depends on me, filling my world with new perspectives and priorities daily.

This blog needs a purpose. It sounds odd, but my goal is not for my blog to be read. That will be a nice side-effect, if it happens. I just need to put my writing somewhere other than journals that fill and fill and fill, and then collect dust for decades. I won't stop journaling - that will always be a necessity for my sanity. But I need another outlet, so I am turning once again to this blog of mine. 

I've decided to use this as a place to respond to writing prompts and inspiration from books such as Wild Words and The Right to Write. (Hence my lack of eagerness to actually have this blog read, as it will mostly be a practice field of sorts.) If the occasional post strikes me in the just the right way, it may find it's way onto Vocal. 

I was just perusing Vocal, and I came across a beautiful little story about appreciating the little things in life. It is somewhat reminiscent of the Pixar movie Soul, which is one of my favourites. Sara Rose writes, "He was the most joyous person on any dance floor. He said he felt more alive dancing than almost anything else." Tears pricked at my eyes when I read this. I know exactly how this feels. I feel most alive when dancing, holding my daughter, laughing, crying, and spending time here, with a blank page. 

So in a way, I guess you could say that my goal for this blog is to visit that feeling regularly. To practice appreciation of the little things. To dance more. To laugh and cry and hold my daughter as often as possible. To see what comes up when I take Julia Cameron's advice and see writing as play, not work. Who knows, maybe I'll even get inspired to finally submit my YA novel to a publisher or two, instead of distracting myself with the safe anonymity of a blog no one reads. (Insert smirk here).

Let's just see what happens, shall we?

I'll end this post with another quote from Sara Rose's story: 

"But the small things, Alice... the first bite of marzipan outside a cafe, the summer breeze fluttering your skirt against your legs, the phone calls with faraway friends... life is made of these."