the edges of myself

Well, I must acknowledge, I’m back to my full-on life, and while I am attempting as much as possible to create balance within that full-on– it proves to be a continuous challenge.  For about the first week after the kids arrived home I managed to remain above that vibration– the chaotic one that constantly begs me to dive into it and be overtaken.  I had enough in my reserves to last about seven days before I started really feeling my kids pushing on the edges of myself.

They came back undoubtedly testing my boundaries, having just spent ten days within a very different structure with their dad, and clearly feeling the expansion that had occurred within me in their absence.  I set about immediately creating space for myself, negotiating a sleepover for both of them on the same night to allow myself some breathing room.  I also set up a rehearsal to begin putting together a short dance piece in my studio with a couple of friends, one of whom is only in Portland for the summer.

So, I’m writing AND I’m dancing.  I was feeling pretty proud for setting aside this time for myself, prioritizing me, the me who so often gets shoved between the couch cushions when my kids are around.  But what I found rather quickly–as soon as they penetrated my edges and began taking up massive amounts of space within my energy field again, is that none of it feels like enough.  I’m on the edge of this massive transformational precipice–actually, I think I just stepped off of it a couple days ago, and one thing is certain, just because they’re around doesn’t mean my transformation is going to slow down.  It just means it’s that much more difficult to process it.  I’m back on duty, and I’m trying to get my kids to understand that they are amazingly self-reliant beings in their own right.

Two days ago I had an incredible session with a very gifted healer, who is also a very dear friend.  In the first part of my session as I lay on the mat, my legs supported by his brilliantly designed tubing structure, he asked me to “play around with moving my right leg.”  I answered him honestly that I couldn’t quite imagine doing that.  My right leg felt like a foreign object that happened to be attached to my body.  He gently placed his hand on my right knee, and I felt the emotion well up inside of me, just from acknowledging the huge disconnect between myself and the leg that has consistently powered me through my life for the last twelve years (and probably longer, that’s just how long I’ve been conscious of it.)

As soon as I felt that acknowledgment move through my body, my right leg let me know it was back on board.  I allowed it to move through whatever it told me it needed to do.  I felt the relief of being able to do that.  I felt my right leg reintegrate into my body.  I thanked it.  Then we moved into a smaller space, my sweet little treatment room.  I lay on the table, cozy and warm under the blanket.  I allowed myself to sink into the comfort.

As my friend continued to work his energetic magic on my body, I felt myself drift far away–so far that as I came back I didn’t know where I was.  And then I understood why–because I was overwhelmed with shock and fear as I realized the depth of a mutilation that I had experienced in a previous lifetime.  I have been consciously working through this lifetime for the last several months, and there are so many lessons in it for me.  I knew going into this session this was what I would be working through.  I felt my entire body flooded with the shock of several of my organs being punctured– I started to get caught up in the shock– feeling the sharp edges of it.  His gentle voice pierced through my shock– almost as if it were coming over a loud speaker,  as he instructed me to push it out through my feet.  I regained my conscious hold on my body and did exactly as he instructed.  As the actual trauma of the mutilation subsided I still felt my organs registering shock.

His calm voice again broke through my cloud of shock telling me to “remind your body that it’s okay now.”  Good idea.  I took a deep breath and settled back into the cozy warmth of the treatment room.  I let my body register its surroundings, felt my fingers and toes.  I knew with certainty that the horror of that lifetime, the mutilation I was forced to inflict upon myself as punishment for allowing myself to acknowledge true love, had seeped out through my edges.  My vibration elevated back to where it belonged, before my soul endured that trauma.

It wasn’t until writing this that I realized that the next step in that lifetime for me, after the mutilation, trauma and shock, was death.  And the words that came along with the horror of it all were “this is what you deserve.”  So, of course this deeply rooted insecurity within me, this part of me that has whispered in my ear for the last 35 years, “you don’t deserve love,” makes perfect sense.  But now it’s gone.  And I’m not sure what it’s been replaced with yet–but I can tell you that it’s kind of scaring the shit out of me.

If I allow myself to acknowledge all that I truly deserve it makes my heart feel as if it’s going to explode.  And I haven’t completely shaken that little girl peeking out from behind her mother’s skirt thinking “really, this is all for me?”  Yes.  It is.  Life is beautiful.  And I deserve the biggest, juiciest peach in the bunch.  We all do.

Coming away from that massive session truly ready to take flight I knew that the integration process with my children needed to be acknowledged more deeply.  I am their mother–and since the moment of their conception until just a couple of weeks ago, I have allowed them to feed off of me and my bigness in a way that, while completely natural, is something I can no longer sustain.  They are not babies anymore.  They are amazing, fully functional human beings– both with their own brand of bigness and clarity.

When I separated from my ex-husband and my transformation began, the first lesson that presented itself, like a fire alarm ringing two inches from my ears, was BOUNDARIES.  I didn’t have them; with anyone–but particularly with him.  Throughout the whole dance that we did as our marriage ended and we established the new relationship moving forward, I very directly began establishing clear boundaries for myself.  And he pushed back– forcefully, like a child who has never been told no.  I felt like he and I were having the same conversation over and over again with different words each time.  The message was always the same– he wanted something I could no longer give him:  myself.  And I finally was able to stand my ground and articulate in however many different ways was necessary (and it seemed like thousands) that I was no longer available to him, on any level.

Now, with my children–it’s a little less cut and dry.  Part of their function as children is to hook into my energy and gauge the world through it– and part of my function as their mother is to hold space for them and allow them to do so.  But–somewhere in that interaction, right at the inception of it– I gave a little too much.  I allowed my identity to be defined and overrun by those two bright beings.  They didn’t do anything wrong– just responded perfectly to what they felt from me.  When Oskar came into being he filled a void within me that I was unaware existed.  He filled an overwhelming need for a family and identity within that family that was deeply rooted in me from several lifetimes ago.  And now, as I begin to quietly distance myself, begin to claim the space that is rightfully mine, and open myself to other possibilities, I feel both of them pulling back.

They both clearly feel the massive shift that is occurring and they feel that they no longer possess me in the way that they are accustomed.  They each have their own way of reacting– Lila is telling me she loves me at least twenty times a day–and seems to be unaware of, or at least is not acknowledging where her physical body ends and where mine begins.  And Oskar is more subtle, but all of a sudden has a keen interest in my activities, and physically attaches himself to me at all the times when I least want him to.  There are no accidents.  My children are incredibly sensitive and keenly aware that their mother is expanding into a place where they are not standing front and center at all times.  It’s not an easy transition for any of us.

I have to keep myself in check and try not to react to their reactions– it only creates drama– and there’s already enough of that in our home.  But I know, no matter how many times we have the conversation, metaphysically, or with words, eventually they will stop blocking the message.  They will realize that as I expand and spread my wings, they too get to experience that same expansion for themselves.  And the bigger we get, the more capacity we have for love.  And love is infinite.