It is almost a week since June showed May the door and my freezing bones are scavenging for warmth beneath my warm duvet. Outside, the chilly breeze has embraced this Sunday evening and I am in here trying to call on my scattered thoughts.
Firstly, my missing in action can be blamed on parenting.
You see, I have been hunting and gathering in other fields for my ever hungry brood. There are days I don't even get to log in here. Days when motherhood weighs heavier than usual. Though strained amounts of time have been stretching ink towards my usually overwhelmed self, the pedant in me have been choosing to use it to obsess over a few suitations I have zero control over.
Like a mad man. I go into these coulda, shoulda, woulda scenarios and web my own headspace with unnecessary ghost chases. How easy it is to get lured into trying to fix my problems inside my head. You should see me treating my confused self to well tailored day dreams.
If only wishes were horses indeed.
The season I was expected to reclaim myself came and went. The gods of the women who came before me have sustained my soul hoping the heavens would gift my clumsy spirit a few more chances to learn how to withstand looking within and embodying whoever I am meant to be.
Strangely, that has been the hardest of tasks.
You see, inner battlefields can flood and drown you in your own blood. With my case, darkness has always had the upper hand with my inner man and light always wages war to free me based on the little love I let myself receive. I feel like I have helped smother the airways that bring energy to my essence at times. Should I speak more of pain? Should I bleed more of it?
There are times I take myself on this divine exploration and where I honor the scars that built my defiant rare smile. I allow myself to sit in the brighter shade of my experiences and even there, I still find pain to reflect on. It flows freely with my triumphant tears and stretches the corners of my mouth through them.
Is there a time when one is free of this weight, I have wondered.
I have looked for myself in my own reflection. My fingers have traced my distressed face for the inevitable wrinkles waiting for time to accompany me through age like I am yet to meet myself. Should I peel some more skin to get to who I am or is this who I am?
June might hold some answers. Or July probably will. What I know is that there is healing to be done. I crave to meet my spirit in her depths. Her core. Her beginnings. To accept love without a struggle. To speak from a place of surrender and peace. To bring down some walls.
A grown woman can hope, can't she?
wambuku w.