Through the Struggle

Little by little, I am getting "it" all back.  All of me.  

It wasn't long ago that my days felt like an endless tick of hours that were spent only doing the necessary things like tending to the kids (lots of taxiing), work, eating, cooking and enough cleaning and tidying to get by. The next day meant a repeat of the day before. Then, I didn't realize that perhaps I had lost myself.  At the time, it was what it was. 

The shift in my thinking and patterns began with walking.  This past spring my dear neighbor Nicole and I would walk several times a week after supper.  It began in the coolness of early spring with empty sidewalks.  By the time she started a new job and I began to walk alone, the sidewalks were clogged with tourists who tended  to walk side by side or stop suddenly unaware that there was a stream of people behind trying to navigate a space much too narrow for crowds.  Nonetheless, I made it a challenge to maintain my pace and dodge around people without knocking them down or sending myself off-balance. This became a playful ritual; I would find myself laughing out-loud at the sheer joy and craziness of the scene. Taking several long walks each day afforded varying place and energy.  Walking in town and on the shore path where the sea pounds the shore or empties itself on schedule was energizing. On the other hand, hiking into Acadia and into the woods was quiet and calming where I seldom met people and I spent much time in my head; figuring things out.

All summer, I struggled to get my footing.  There was a deep core of myself that was grieving; deeply sad and unhappy despite the bounties around me.  Each work day, I packed two salads, some fruit and water and met my husband for a picnic lunch.  We ate on the shore.  We breathed in each other's presence.  Some days we were silent, but content.  Other days we chatted between forkfuls.  I trusted that walking, making deep connections with my husband and preparing healthy foods was what I needed to heal whatever needed healing.. 

My interest in regaining myself and becoming healthier ignited my former need to spend hours in the kitchen preparing food, trying new recipes and critiquing each bite.  Food nourished my curiosity about vegan cuisine as a way of supplementing an already healthy diet.  This satisfied my need to express myself creatively.  Despite the fact that I yearned to read books and sit and write, I couldn't.  I remained restless and uneasy.  I had to trust that little by little and overtime, I would feel better.

To this day, I don't quite understand my struggle.  Maybe it is not for me to figure out and analyze, but to just accept.  My days remain full taking care of myself physically and emotionally.  It's funny I measure my health not so much on the scale as I do with my ability to be at home in my own skin, inside my own head. I needed to go through struggles (whatever they were) to land where I am presently.  For now, today I feel happier.  I feel grounded. I am grateful.