I have a confession to make. . . I’m magical. But here’s the bigger one, and maybe you should make sure you’re sitting down for this (I realize, you probably already are). . . you are magical too. Now, for some of you this may be coming as a complete shock, but don’t worry, I’m here to tell you that it’s going to be alright. As a matter of fact, it’s going to be so much more than alright. Acknowledgement is the first step.
The more you acknowledge your magic, the more powerful your magic becomes. I’ve been a closeted magic weaver for a really long time–and my process of unfolding and bringing my special brand of magic into the light has been the most empowering part of my journey thus far. And, I’ve just barely begun.
A little over a year ago (last March, to be precise), I woke up. Now, I hadn’t fallen asleep completely–I had simply compartmentalized myself into an existence that I could manage. I had my magic-weaving practice, and my parenting, two things I was very much present and awake for, and then there was that ten ton elephant in the room, my marriage. The crazy thing is, I was actually completely conscious of the fact that I wasn’t really happy in it. I was resigned to it. I was honoring a commitment that I made, something along the lines of “well, I said I’d do this, so here I am, I guess this is what I’m doing.”
Those of you who know me well understand that I am a very steadfast person. Once I commit to something, I don’t look back. I’m beginning to see the holes in that modus operandi. Certainly, it has served me well in many instances, but this particular one–well, there was a bit more to it than that. I think also we do what we know. I had an amazing upbringing and two parents who loved me unconditionally. What they didn’t love, however, was each other.
Now, that’s not to say that at some point they didn’t love each other. Of course they did. But, at some point, that love ran its course, they grew up, they grew apart–and that point was well before the marriage ended. Much like my own marriage. My body formed within the context of a marriage that was not based in love. My cells, the entirety of my being, formed within that vibration. I understood it intimately. It was never ugly or particularly unhappy. There was definitely mutual respect there. But not love. So, it stands to reason that when faced with that fact in my marriage, I understood it completely–my cells understood it. And they accepted it as fact. They resigned themselves to it.
When my ex-husband left, in a very dramatic fashion, after a few months of committed counseling, the first thing my body and entire being registered was shock. It wasn’t the plan, it wasn’t the commitment, it did not compute. I felt rejected, abandoned, confused, and angry. I spent about 24 hours in that state of shock. My mother-in-law was visiting, I think she was in the same state.
The next couple of days were a bit blurry, but I did get the clear message that what I needed, what we both needed, was time apart. At this point, of course, my internal monologue was saying something along the lines of “he just needs a little space, and then he’ll realize that this is crazy, and of course he’ll come back.” Thankfully, my inner monologue is sometimes a little off.
Some friends generously offered their beach house for a few days to me and the kids– so I had a plan. The kids and I packed up our stuff as he packed up his and we went our separate ways. As I drove away from the city, my stereo blasting Iron and Wine, tears streaming down my face, my two trusty co-pilots in the back seat, I had the most remarkable sensation. It almost felt as if I were sprouting wings. I felt this massive weight lift off of my shoulders, my lungs felt like they had vastly more capacity, my heart felt crushed, but expansive. Or maybe I just felt it–I’m not sure I had in a while. Along with all of these sensations that I experienced came the very clear knowing that this was right. It felt good. I felt free.
I spent the next couple of days establishing a new rhythm with my kids, finding our dynamic of three. I made a bunch of phone calls to my loved ones. I cried a lot. But, at the end of those few days I emerged, fully, with my magic. Those large parts of me, really important, foundational ones that I had been unable to uncover within the context of my married life started coming back to the surface, testing the waters so to speak.
So much of the me that is magical, the me who knows and feels and loves was squashed down into a little tiny compartment for safe-keeping. I realized quickly in my marriage that there was a complete lack of understanding of the magical me. As I came into myself as a healer, he raised his eyebrows at me and told me he wished I’d stop burping so much. (For those of you who don’t know–and that’s probably a lot of you, burping is just one of the many ways I move energy). So, I shut it down when I entered the walls of my home as best I could. It was necessary. I could be as free and big as I wanted at work, but at home, I put up the walls. And they were substantial. That’s another thing about me many of you know, I don’t do do anything half-assed.
It kept me safe. It preserved me. But, it definitely didn’t make me happy. And ultimately it was completely unsustainable. And, larger than that it was a huge injustice to my children. I want my children to see me, all of me, and to feel just how big I am. I want them to intimately know their own magic and have that magic so beautifully interwoven amongst all their cells so that it is never an option to compartmentalize it. I also want them to understand that marriage can be beautiful and co-creative. And someday I’ll model that for them.
Until then, I’ll be weaving my own brand of magic, on my own, everywhere i go (with the help of my two co-pilots, of course).
the edges of myself 