Reweaving To Do's

Hello Friends, 

I have been wanting to return to this place for a long time. Imagine my surprise to see that my last post, two babies and almost four years ago to the day, was called "on heron time." Heron is the name of our second child, asleep in the stroller right now. 

Something big is moving in me. I am becoming a new person (I am, always. Are you? And also,  I am not.) 

Each strand of parenting, of living, feels like another thread I am called to untangle, smooth, reweave. These threads go back beyond my own life, are corded to the loom of human history, white human history, the history of people's oppressed who chose to oppress. Human story. 

Rewoven:

marriage

childbirth

lifestyle

Simplistic to say they are "done." These strands change, get tangled, need my attention. 

Currently reweaving:

My relationship to anger. My relationship to my passion, to my wisdom. How to say "No" with an open heart (but first, is it even possible to say no with an open heart?)

I have been working towards setting boundaries firmly and lovingly since I began actively studying early childhood education. 
I have been afraid of being pushy. 

Pushy: in your face. Of a strong opinion that is uninformed, that does not include the other person's truth or experience. 

I have been afraid of becoming the ancestors of my lineage who flip(ped) their lid. The ancestors I fear(ed). 

My family bears the brunt of my experiments. My family bears the brunt of the waves of guilt. I have felt guilty for taking up space. For prioritizing sleep. For caring so much about his health that I feel angry when he hurts himself. For flipping my lid. 

Last summer, our community lost a woman, Bo Conlan, who embodied the loving blade. Sometimes, I felt terrified of her. But also, she gave me so much damn permission. And I felt really, really seen by her. When she had time for me. 

Two nights ago, I prayed for help from the ancestors. Bo came in a dream and told me to take up space, to sing and dance in the face of another's judgement and impatience. When I did sing and dance with all my heart, Bo celebrated with me. 

I woke up exhilarated and grateful. And thinking, "I get to sleep in. I get to do my back exercises." How did I find myself in a place where simple, necessary self-care feels like such an edge? The answer to that question is irrelevant. What matters is that I am here now, caring for my vitality. And I seek to do so with love. 

Thanks for listening,

Kate