Dear Departed: volume twelve

a week where I forgot to write this until two minutes before I would usually post and now here we are - a different type of weekly reflection.

Dear Departed,

I did a lot of things this week that feel too personal to put out into the world and I’m coming back around to the idea of writing for me and what that means. I started [redacted] for the first time and I scheduled [redacted] after a long time of overthinking it and I’m feeling really proud of myself and really emotional about both things. I’m taking steps to better care for myself and show up as a healthier version of me and that’s really a huge deal. It’s scary to make change. It’s scary to do something that might be hard before it’s better. I’m doing it though and I’m moving forward.

I haven’t had a whole lot of time for my creative outlets because my energy levels are much lower than I like them to be and my bedtime has started to overlap with my son’s. We go through our routine, I get him to sleep, and then I crash as soon as I transfer him into his bed. I’ve been doing our bedtime routines together, so that we’re both ready and I can go right to sleep without much extra work.

I am a person with high sleep needs, and my son is not. I used to sleep 10-12 hours per night, and now I’m happy to get 4 before I’m woken up. He usually wakes up during the night at some point and comes into my bed. I have it set up so that he can easily get out of his floor bed and walk into mine when he needs me. He also wakes me up every morning, so the time where I am on my own is really limited. I know there will come a time when he doesn’t need me as much though, when he sleeps more independently and consistently, so I’ll never say no to a 2am cuddle or a 6am wake up.

This week, I was reflecting on some of my regular self care routines that I cared a lot about and really stuck to before my son was born. It’s been three years this month since I got pregnant, and it feels crazy to think that there was a time before I was this version of me. But she used to wake up every morning and journal. She’d pull a few tarot cards and read before she started her day and then work and move through the day with her comfortably structured routine.

This version of me is in mom mode from the moment I open my eyes and even still when I’m asleep. I sometimes sneak in some journal or reading time while my kid watches a morning episode of one of his favorite shows¹ but he’ll sometimes close my book or my journal and say, “no reading mama.” The main routine we have is that he wakes me up, we say good morning to our Franny Hot Dog², and we snuggle on the couch for a little longer until it’s time to take Francis for a walk.

good morning rainbows and kisses for Francis (Franny Hot Dog)

I’m sure my energy levels will continue to ebb and flow as time goes on and we go through different things - and truly, I am so grateful to have this life. Even when it’s hard. Even when I’m bone deep tired. I love this life.

And I am doing my best to manage the grief that shows up for me each day. With every piece of change. With the continued need for transformation and evolution into who I am today - different from who I was yesterday, and different from who I’ll be tomorrow. The grief shapes me. And, at my core, I am who I am, who I’ve always been, the 6 year old who wrote about being afraid of her magical shoes that talked to her³. The girl with the imagination who wanted to be a writer. The girl who wanted to be a teacher when she grew up. Who wanted to be a mom. I am her. I am always her. But I’m a little bit different, both farther away from that younger me and closer to her with every new thing I do. And isn’t that the whole point? Getting closer to the core of who we’ve always been and letting the little things change as often as they need to? Letting ourselves love so big and deep that grief from loss and change transforms us totally?

I don’t know if any of this makes sense. I am tired and foggy grief brained and I just let this piece flow into whatever it wanted to become. I know I did things this week - I taught classes and met with students and talked to friends and spent time with my family. I read some of a book and I graded papers. I took care of my kid and was present and engaged. And I grieved. Because somehow, life goes on. And my departed, I will love and grieve you for all of my days. And I think, truly, I am grateful for the grief, because it gives me the chance to live a little fuller, to love a little deeper, and to be a lot more aware of what I have to lose.

Talk soon, xo

1. Lately he’s been really into my old favorites: Dragon Tales, Little Bear, Franklin, and Maggie and the Ferocious Beast

2. Our dog’s name is Francis, but my son lovingly renamed him Hot Dog recently and so he’s now referred to as “Franny Hot Dog”

3. I found this journal a few years ago when my parents were moving and this story I wrote was my proof that I did in fact have anxiety as a kid.