I Seem to Be Burrowing Instead of Blooming

Every year on New Year Eve, I pick a word and write out goals/wishes/dreams for the year. This year, I chose bloom. I’ve been hiding and buried under so much darkness the last few years, as many of us have. Personal and worldwide darkness. I imagined myself as a seedling, slowing cracking through my pod with bright green shoots of life and clawing my way to the surface through the dirt and mud. I planned to bloom and be a better version of myself. Stronger, more confident, past the brutality of the last few years of the unknown and the uncontrollable.

Unfortunately, I’ve been going backwards and burrowing instead of blooming.

At first, I blamed winter since it is incredibly easy to do. Winter is dull and gray and cold. Without the promise of snow here in NYC any more, it isn’t pretty either. I have tried the last few years to treat winter like a hibernation like it is for most of nature. A chance to heal, regroup and rest. The issue with this is that makes me anxious and antsy. I don’t like sitting still and resting. I’ve improved treating it as such over the years yet I found myself retreating and wallowing in my lack of energy. I gave into the slump that comes with all the juggling I am doing: new mama, full time job that has entirely shifted into something new/confusing, writing a novel, being a human.

It’s a lot and my mental load is overflowing.

A part of me assumed that my body would always bounce back from anything. For years, it did. I am realizing now that is called ‘youth’ and I no longer have it. I am not saying I am old but I am ever so much more than twenty. I am finding it extremely challenging to adjust my perspective and admit I can’t do things the same way. I can’t eat the same way or not drink a thousand glasses of water. I have to move my body otherwise I crack and snap and say things like “Oh, my back!” I need many hours of sleep (not just five), moments to recharge away from everyone else. I get overstimulated so quickly when I never did before (part of motherhood, for certain).

I thought the same about my post partum body. Of course I knew my body would never be the same. I grew a person and lost two before that. But I wonder if many, myself included, kinda thought we’d be the exception to the rule. My body has done a lot over the years and always found its way back to where I am confident and happy with it.

I haven’t been that way in a long time.

I got cocky after my daughter was born. I ignored the reasons I could still fit in my pre-pregnancy jeans: gestational diabetes diet where I ate nothing fun, not drinking and coming off of a five day hospital stay where I didn’t eat much those first three days. I thought my body would remain this way and I could go back to my life style. And dear reader, that’s one of the dumbest things I’ve ever thought.

I clearly knew this was a thin line to walk. I could have adopted some of the GD diet into my meals and kept the fun things in small doses. I could have picked up an exercise routine or stopped drinking all together. I could have done a lot of things to maintain the body I had after birth.

I did none of these things and those jeans are now buried in my closet.

I’ve realized I’ve lost more pieces of myself than I realize and I am retreating. I am trying to recover them instead of recovering. Aside from motherhood, so much has changed around me. It’s like I am in a whirlpool, swirling in circles and more things get pulled in to spin with me. Instead of fighting to get out, I’ve been comfortable staying in. Like I am waiting for rescue or the whirlpool to cease to exist. The part I don’t want to admit is that neither of those things can happen without me swimming out myself.

Maybe I am cozy in this world of denial. Some days are better than others. I have so much joy in my life. This is an internal battle I’ve had all my life that is no one’s fault (except maybe society). It is hard not to let it drag me down some afternoons where I want to sink to the floor and mourn it all.

My life was in an organized box and now someone tipped it over and spilled its contents. Some things scattered across the floor, rolled under the table, broke. I am trying to put them back but somehow nothing fits like it used to. Not my clothes, my day job, my lifestyle. It is all clunky and uncomfortable. Ugh, I know that means change is coming but thanks, I hate it.

I want to bloom. And blooming is changing. A flower comes from a seed and that seed is now a flower, something different and nothing like its former self. I didn’t think I would have such a hard time with this chapter. It surprised me and I think that surprised caused me to hide in my shell like a turtle. I don’t like surprises, I don’t like change, I don’t like myself in the mirror right now.

But I do like flowers.