A Thousand Words
What does this picture say?
It says I didn’t give up all those years. It says I wanted to, I almost did, I tried, but I’m still here.
It says I still keep trying despite weekly pain spikes and daily flares and the host of what goes with just a half hour kayak trip.
It says my children see resilience in action through their mother. It says my children witness self-compassion and self-grace in their mother. It says my children see real joy and peace permeate despite always pain. It says the paradox of being a human is an endless embrace and we are here to embrace it.
It says my husband has his wife and I have my best friend and lover still.
It says today I chose to make this moment with my family a priority, edging out many other moments requiring my mental and physical time and attention. It says while the circus act of determining what I’ll be able to do five minutes later, five hours later, five days later if I do ‘whatever this thing’ now is a far less mind-ram-consuming task than it once was, I still undergo the mental gymnastics that exhausts after a good but hard practice. It says I still do it every day despite the tiredness of just thinking ‘it’ through.
It says the sounds of my bugs shouting “Momma look at me, Momma look over there, Momma go faster, Momma I did it, I’m rowing,” are the sweet sounds that lull me to peace and sleep at the end of a long day.
It says I am happy.
It says I put my self-care at the top of my list so that the downstream results are these moments it allows.
It says there are things on my mind you cannot see just by looking at this picture. There are celebrations and concerns, hopes, dreams and hesitations.
It says there is much unspoken.
It says the threads that connect us, me to them, me to you, are beautiful and difficult but worth it.
It says this was a good day.