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67 weeks | It’s time I told you the truth | no. 0061
*This is an open letter to my present self, from my ancient-future self.*
I know you keep saying you need more time, but now is actually the moment all this is going to happen. The tide doesn’t wait for the shore. This work is alive and it can’t be contained by worries and delusions of inadequacy. The seeds you planted are now emerging. Everything needs breath and sun and water. I need you to fully accept that this is your life. The light is green.
Besides it takes so much effort to be in denial. Suppressed visions make for a burdened soul. That’s no way to mother, now is it?
Today you made another chart of plans for workshops. It’s just part of your process. You have to draw it out. You have to set dates and times. You need the calendar to bear witness to its future. That’s important work, not to be taken lightly. Because of the hours you spent designing this during the munchkin’s nap, you’re feeling a bit more possible inside this enormous mission of yours. You feel, at least, like you’ve got a handle on the second season of the New Mommy Writers’ Workshop. And you also made a brief outline to expand the program for the next Birth Stories gathering. Your notebook is teeming with realistic intentions. This is a good thing, even though now you are in a sort of panic. Once it’s on paper, the pressure is on. Even if no one knows, you know.
This doesn’t totally disrupt your process though. As we know, you work magic in the midnight hour. But this is not as simple as pulling an all-nighter for a midterm and managing an “A” anyway. The stakes are higher, the accountability reaches further. Also, you have a family! That’s one thing you didn’t pencil into your project’s timeline. All the nurturing and breastfeeding, the teaching and the cleaning, the meals and laundry, the supposed naps you need, the conversations and compromises that need to be worked out, the listening and the budgeting, the loving and the learning, the outings and adventures that need planning, funding, and your presence.
All these variables that alone would take up all your time. And yet you still have the audacity to aim for the grand. You are your mother’s daughter, even though, undoubtedly when you’re in the thick of all this mothering and creating and producing, she will be the first one to question if you’re doing too much. Takes one to know one, Ma!
As you already know, it’s quite alright that you have no idea how you’re going to get this massive vision on its feet. I’m here also to remind you in your forgetful moments that this whole awesome thing has been rising for sometime now. The community is already feeling your movement. More people are coming forward, more women are listening, more mothers are finding a home in your work. This thing already has a pulse.
All those years you spent mothering through invisibility– the grief, the pain, the loneliness– they were critical to the heart of this entire thing. In the beginning, long before we see any flowers, the seed is merely one with its earth. This has been your journey, Binah. You were in the soil for a very long time. With the birth of the munchkin, you burst through into the world of visible mothering. But you bring with you an eternal awareness that your work will always straddle both realms. You know too many of us are terrified of the dark. The soil and its unknowns turn people away from their soul-work. Your role is to cultivate spaces where humanity can unpack its fears, discover untapped powers, and experiment with ways of being authentic in every season of development.
This is why structure and rules are so challenging for you. You believe that everyone must decide their code for themselves, that the world can’t dictate such intuitive things. But as you’re learning, their are many systems of understanding. Those who resonate with you will come to know you better, will help you expand this budding philosophy, will show you how applicable your theories are in real life situations. You will be forever grateful to these people for being so generous and contributing to the evolution of this mission. You will say thank you many times. You will find joy in simply being of service.
There will also be those who disagree with you completely, or think you’re too idealistic, or just don’t feel your approach makes sense for their lives. Most of the time this won’t make you stumble. Sometimes though, you will feel opposition. Whether it makes noise, or exists in silence, you will make a choice to ignore it or speak on it. I know, this can be difficult for someone like you. It’s your way to strive to see the best in people. But this is also the work too. Don’t overthink it, you will get wiser at navigating such things. And you will always know that everyone tuning in is not necessarily tuned in. This is okay. This is the way of the guru.
I know, those titles make you a little uncomfortable. It’s natural. In this coming season of your story, you will stop being afraid of telling yourself the truth. People have even whispered as much to you over the years already. But you always downplay it, wave it away, act as if your special gift is just some ordinary thing anyone can do if they put their mind to it. But if anyone knows that there are no duplicates in creation, it’s you. But this thing doesn’t trouble me, really. Momentary apprehensions never suffocated any real dreams. It’s a maturity thing. Just watch, after while you will notice a shift in your behavior. You will begin to embrace this calling with all your might, and worry less and less whether your mother understands you.
This is not an ending, but I’m just pausing so you can make dinner and take care of your family tonight. Your mind has been floating today. Nothing is “done” except for the amazing workshops sketched in your notebook. I think we will have to have these check-ins more often though. The intensity is only going to increase from here. I want you to know you can do this. You must do this. For reasons small and large, known and unknowable. But at least for now we can agree that you can stop pretending that you aren’t changing the world. This thing is in motion. There’s no turning back from here.
And please, remember to do your booty rolls! That’s your fuel, okay? But anyway, we can talk about that next time.
With love and joy beams,
The munchkin, my first born, was born on a Wednesday. Wednesday’s Bloom: Textual Portraits of a New Mommy is an ongoing multi-media documentary project about my process as a mother. Today’s story is a part of Volume 1, 73 consecutive weeks of posts, spanning about the first year and a half of the munchkin’s life. Each episode explores my weekly discoveries, challenges, questions, and hopes as a mother. I also facilitate the New Mommy Writers’ Workshop for all mothers and women active in their mothering work who are excited about cultivating their own writing practices.