Summer slows and I find I am finally slowing, too, refusing the miss out on these last twenty-something days.
I’m not the same. The winter woman was reborn, sprung to life, and fills all the crevices of this new skin.
I drink my iced coffee black now, and with a shot of espresso to keep up a youthful appearance.
I reapplied to nursing school in an act of finding my way–and I am hopeful.
I hit a goal I had never written down, and see the door of change offering its key to me.
I placed boundaries around my oldest and acknowledged I haven’t loved him perfectly, for those boundaries might have existed sooner.
I battled my daughters, but learned how to stay on the same team while doing so.
I’ve fallen in love with a man who holds space for me and I for him, thus breaking the chain of co-dependency.
I’ve claimed my own bedroom with windows facing east–sunrise over the river–it’s the smallest in the house and I feel at home.
I’ve received the pain of gossip and woke up to the truth that not everyone will know me, see me, or perceive me in the ways I hope. And I now guard my own words carefully.
I keep smaller, safer circles–going deeper within those friendships.
I’ve learned to receive a friend’s truthful observations without recoiling as though criticism; and I have grown because of their bravery and wisdom.
I’ve provided for kids,
and lived by strengths.
and embraced habits.
I’ve made peace with the fact that I don’t cook like I used to, and sometimes I don’t even miss it.
I’ve stepped into a church and returned–again and again; I’ve thanked Jesus for not abandoning me.
I let the old visions of my future crumble, and rearrange themselves in this kaleidoscope of life.
I look back at the woman I was for the last fifteen years of life and I thank her for her service–for the the way she loved her children, created a home, supported her spouse in his endeavors. I thank her for her mornings of coffee and her passion for women. I thank her for the dreams she set aside to serve others. I forgive her for her silence. I forgive her for her blindness. I forgive her for her inability to live longer than she did.
And as I lay her to rest, I hope to honor her by bringing the best parts forward into this new season, this new life, and may her voice echo every once in a while through the pen on the page.