The other day my family went to the grocery store while I sat in the backyard.
As I soaked in the strange quiet of a toddler-free yard, drinking coffee without wondering who was putting what in their mouth, I looked out at the toys scattered from earlier that day.
I thought about how some of the stuff my kids were absolutely obsessed with a few months ago had already begun collecting cobwebs, and how soon the toys that they’re currently obsessed with will be old news, too.
Because kids change fast, man.
Whether it’s their interests, bedtime routines, or shoe sizes, it seems like as soon as I’ve settled into “we are reading Inside Out every night” my kids are changing again, and I’m left holding the book.
As much effort as I put into letting go, allowing them to be and develop and grow into these new humans on a daily basis, as much as I attempt to practice the “your children are not your children” idea, breathing into the now and welcoming the new phases, the truth is…I also feel grief.
It’s hard to say goodbye to things we love, and I’m saying goodbye to a version of my kids — my life — all the time.
We all are.
Even as I try so hard not to grasp, it can sometimes feel like my kids are these flitting butterflies that I’m always trying to pin down long enough to truly see them, appreciate them, trying to soak in every last snuggle from their warm little loaf of bread bodies while they’re still so doughy.
But my kids are less doughy by the day, and isn’t that the most fortunate thing? Isn’t having healthy, growing, changing kids the most incredible and fortunate thing? I am so deeply grateful for this circumstance. And yet…
It aches.
And if I let it, this grief can mean a few things:
- That I am too sensitive, too attached, and not present enough (because if I were, I wouldn’t be mourning the past or future, right? Haven’t I read The Power of Now a bazillion times at this point?)
or
- That I am a deeply sensitive human who is awake to the precarity and fragility of my existence, that I am attuned to the deep love I have for this present version of my life, and that this willingness to feel it all can also mean feeling an ache.
Both of those can be true at once.
And isn’t the willingness to feel it all a good thing? Brave, even?
This kindness toward “feeling it all” applies to your ache, too.
Whether you have kids growing like weeds in front of you or not, if you’re a highly sensitive human that feels achey about impermanence, there’s nothing wrong with you, or us.
In fact, I am pretty proud of us.
We’re open to all of it, including the painful parts.
There are some tools and practices that help me deal with the ache, and I will share more about those here soon, but after speaking on this topic a lot lately, I’m finding how important it is to simply be reminded:
If you’re sensitive, be tender with yourself.
If you’re grieving, you’re not wrong.
If you’re feeling it all, you’re doing it right.
I think we grieve the things that we love, and I deeply love my children and our time together - even when someone is trying to put something they shouldn’t in their mouth. I can hold all of these feelings at once…I learned how to do that from Inside Out. (Please watch that movie if you’ve never seen it.)
If you too, stand in the tender precarity of being a deeply feeling human, wondering if you’re simply too emotional or too sensitive, if you’ll ever be present or healed or “well” enough to NOT feel all the things all the time, I am here to remind you…
You’re actually doing this human thing exactly right.
I’m proud of you.
I’m with you.
Being human is all the things.
xo
Melissa
PPS: This is my favorite meditation of all time.
One way I deal with “the ache” is by setting time aside to purposefully travel to the future and journal to my someday-grown kids. This helps me create a space for the ache AND be grateful for what is currently present. Consider writing down answers for your kids or asking questions of your family members in the Questions You’ll Wish You Asked journals. Find them here.
Do you know a motherless pregnant mom? I made a pregnancy journal just for her. It’s got all the thoughtful parts of a pregnancy log, but with the motherless mother in mind. Learn more here.
