It is one of those moments. I am curled up in a bed not my own. Wrapped sloppily in scratchy wool. On my left side. It is late morning. The girls are outside playing with their father. Looking for hippos and dinosaurs. Making believe. Being kids.
And I am here. There. Resting. Because I am tired, so tired. And it’s quiet, so quiet, too quiet. In the distance, I hear the growl of a washing machine, the clanking of pots, the dragging of something big. But mostly? I hear the buzz of being alone.
An avalanche of anxiety. I think of all the things I must do and haven’t done. In the next two months. In my lifetime. I think of the sadness, sweet and stubborn, that lurks in the ale of adulthood; the pearly mist of melancholy we see and feel once we stop pretending. I think of my friend and the unthinkable tragedy she and her family suffered on Christmas day. On Christmas day.
I lie here. There. Body motionless, mind whirring with wonder and dread and, finally, some improbable and exquisite peace. I feel a kick. A thump. A something. Bold and strong and full of life. Just next to my belly button, that spot, small and centered, hidden so well. Beneath clothes and blankets and the most ferocious of fear. I reach my hand under the layers, real and imagined, splay my fingers wide and rest them there. I wait for more. For another movement. Another reminder. Another something.
And it comes. And here, there, alone, never alone, I smile to myself. And words come, a slow trickle, a silent stream.
Everything will be okay.
Words foolish and glorious. Words ridiculous and true. Words that save me.
And I sit up slowly, on that bed, less alone, more aware. Life and love, longing and loss pulsing proudly inside me. Me.
And I write these words. And in writing them, something lifts.
Everything will be okay.
____________________________________
Do you ever suffer unpredictable moments of panic? When you slow or stop does your mind rumble with worry? Do words – thought, felt, written – help you escape from these mini-crises when they manifest? Do you agree that there is an undeniable sadness that comes with adulthood, a melancholy that is bound to maturity?
Wow. This filled me up this morning, just when I need to read something to cheer me. Despite the sadness, the melancholy you speak of (which I know only too well), I can literally feel the hope in your words. Beautiful. Enjoy this, this awakening, and the beauty of life inside you.
Isn’t it really amazing how tangled the melancholy and hope can be? This is why I can handle these moments, these tiny dips into despair – because in my heart of hearts, I know that they are linked – however inscrutable – with ultimate joy.
This really made me stop and think. Very beautifully written and thought provoking. I have the same panic stricken moments. When I feel so alone, yet I know that I am not. I have horrible fears and moments of unbearable anxiety. I worry about everything. It just is who I am. It is one thing about myself I wish I could change.
Oh, wow. This brings back vivid memories of the last few months of my pregnancy when I was overwhelmed with full-time work and taking the most intense and challenging classes of my MBA. Whenever I became stressed about exams and papers I would feel my baby move and almost instantly realize how trivial it all was. I was growing a life! I could survive an exam. Everything would be okay.
Beautifully written, as always.
Isn’t it truly incredible how a little (or not so little) thump or kick from within can immediately shift everything into perspective? This is by far one of my favorite parts of pregnancy – the movement and the magic within and the reminders that come with those lovely jolts.
Absolutely, I completely know this feeling … and that’s when I need to trust, as I wrote about today. Sending you lots of love. xoxo
it will be. the end of pretending is real and true and good–and won’t always feel melancholy. grace and peace today:)
“The end of pretending” – I love that. That could be a great book title. Hmmmm
(Thank you)
Lovely. Touching.
p.s. When I click the “Click To Order” button, it opens only a jpg of that same image, not a link to purchase. I’ll check Amazon…
I feel the melancholy of adulthood/responsibility all too often. Le sigh. And sometimes I have moments of panic, but my thoughts and words help me out of it. Thankfully. When I can envision something better, I can push towards it.
Beautifully written, well said.
“Le sigh” indeed. (Love that expression.) Thank goodness for the power of words in these situations. And thank goodness for blog readers
Thank you for this. I have been torturing myself all morning as my year gets off to what I think is too slow a start. All the things I need to do, have to do, want to do.
Everything will be OK. Thank you for reminding me.
Glad these words reminded you
I was a bit reluctant to post this one because it is quite vulnerable, but then I thought: Hey, I doubt I’m alone in this. And looks like I am right. I think we all slip into moments of anxiety because, at bottom, we care and caring is good. We want to lead good and productive lives and sometimes the pressure builds…
Sending you hugs today. Amazing how something so small as an unborn child can bolster and buoy the spirits of a grown woman in a dark and quiet moment. Everything will be okay. Indeed. I believe that for you in the moments when you doubt it yourself.
The longer we live the more times we encounter hard times- be they our own or others. But the world keeps moving regardless of what is happening.
Sometimes that can be seen as a negative, but it is also a positive. It is a reaffirmation that humans continue to pick ourselves up and move forwards.
“Unpredictable moments of panic” are my mode of operation these days. Some days, I feel like I’m just waiting for tragedy to strike. Waiting and worrying. Does that mean I need Xanax??
I ask that in jest. But then again, maybe not. What is it about mothering that does this to us? Is it the depth of our love, which we know intuitively will one day be matched in intensity by loss, in some way or another?
I wish I had answers. But it’s so comforting to know that someone else has the same questions.
It is curious to me that I attach these moments of panic (thankfully infrequent for me) to adulthood, to the heightened awareness of life and struggle that has (for me) arrived with age. But I think you might be right that this has much (if everything) to do with being a parent. Parenthood changes us irrevocably and indelibly and perhaps this panic is just part of the equation. Thank you for making me think.
Beautiful post! Everything will be okay-everything will be great! Trust it and believe it!
Lovely post. So relatable for all of us who have carried life – on so many levels.
As for panic, I never knew it until I became a parent. It can flare out of nowhere, and somehow – laying eyes on your child, safe and sound (at any age), everything is alright.
Panic is part and parcel of parenthood, for some of us. But all that joy outweighs everything else.
You (and Stacia above) have made me realize something profound: Maybe this anxiety, these flare-ups (perfect word for them) have everything to do with having children. I honestly hadn’t thought about it that way. And now I am perplexed because maybe it was being a mother that made me have this tough moment but it was also the fact that I am about to become a mother again that helped me escape the moment… Interesting. Thanks, BLW.
When I was going through a really rough time, I was at the checkout at Whole Foods and saw a magnet that I knew I had to have.
It says, “Everything will be OK in the end. If it’s not OK, it’s not the end.”
It’s been on my fridge for years now, and is a mantra I recite to myself whenever things look dark. And amazingly enough, (so far at least) it’s been true!
Love those words. What a wonderful magnet
I think I need one!
What a lovely snapshot of time. I treasure the intimacy I experienced with each of my sons before they were born. You captured that feeling perfectly. I almost felt like an intruder on your privacy.
I’ve learned (especially this past year) that my brain can logically accept that “everything will be ok” a couple of days before my heart can. Because of that I’ve also learned patience.
Sending warm thougths your way.
Yes, those moments of panic capture me and hold me hostage. Sometimes more often than I would like. In order to climb above it, I breathe, run and write. And as you say, something lifts. Sending you hugs Aidan.
If this post had a “favorite me” button below it, I would click on it.
Thank you.
Uh, I think the question would be “when do I NOT suffer unpredictable moments of panic.” I find that the responsibility involved in parenting can feel overwhelming, and that guilt, the nasty neighbor that it is, comes knocking far too frequently. Life as a parent is definitely bittersweet and melancholic for me, as well, because loss and joy are so entwined.
What a beautiful post, Aidan, one that says so much in so few words, and captures an ocean of feeling.
Ah, guilt. I need to write more about guilt because it is such a monster in so many of our lives. And, yes, loss and joy are so inextricably linked that it is often difficult to speak of one (or feel one) without the other. “An ocean of feeling”? A tremendous and lovely compliment. Thank you.
I find that when I feel melancholy, often focusing on the beauty in my children helps lift my spirits. And when my mind is spinning, swirling with worry, I try to tell myself that there is no point in worry about something I have no control over. (I do that a lot on airplanes when we hit turbulence!)
Oh Aidan. I understand. You so eloquently captured that feeling…that angst. And that sweet rapture of stepping out of the dark. Thank you for a beautiful post–it’s one of my favorites of yours. xo
Thanks, Denise. “Stepping out of the dark” – beautifully interpreted, and said. What is life but a tie-dye of light and dark, of clarity and confusion, of wisdom and worry?
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Moments of panic. Yes. Often. There are so many things I want to do and so many I have to do and never enough time.
This is a lovely post. So many times it feels like I’m alone in those moments of panic and melancholy. It’s nice to know other people have them, too. It gives me hope.
When I was younger, I could not wait to be an adult. I romanticized being on my own beyond belief. And then I got here. And I got sad. There are days where all I want to do is curl up in my bed and hide from the world: alone with all my imperfections and fears. But then I stop and remember all that I want to do with my life. I remember all the blessings that I have had. I remember that the “worst” that can happen might not actually be that bad. And I move forward. Sometimes I write about these small moments but most of the time I just keep them to myself. They are my little blessing and sometimes I prefer to just keep them inside: a me to me little secret.