I lost my way a bit.
Edit: I lost my way a lot.
The wheels fell off the vehicle I’ve been driving and that vehicle was a giant monster truck of expectation, grandiosity, pressure, shoulds, and strategy. Honestly, it’s fucking great that that vehicle is no longer usable, but damn ... I thought I needed it to get through this weird endless freeway of life.
You see, when you’re in business, the world will tell you to get bigger, do better, grow grow grow grow grow, and live our best lives. The world will tell you to never give up. The world will tell you that hustle is the way. The world will tell you to listen to the people with big names and shiny pockets.
I did all that (and more) and I’m officially retiring.
I’m coming back home instead.
I’m a sensitive artist. I’m a muddy kid. I’m a subversive thinker. I’m a healer. And I’m madly in love with the human body because it makes sense in a world that doesn’t make sense. In the cobwebs of human rights, politics, world atrocities, my own blaring failures and harms, the human body reminds me that the entire thing - this whole messy universe - is a system of order. Nothing is broken when it falls apart, it’s just all out of order. The wrong muscles doing jobs for which they are not built, the wrong part of our spine flexing instead of extending, and the wrong sort of strength for the unpredictable and dynamic role of being human.
For me, putting the human body in the right order is something I can do each day for me and for you. And that is simply it. I don’t know much else than that. And while you are in an expert in what YOU do, this is what I can do.
This is home to me. And I started leaving home too much. I started taking that monster truck to work and stopped coming back to the basics. Why? Because, like you and you and you, I doubt that my home base is enough. Instead of asking, how do I manage this, I asked, “How do I grow this?” That’s not a real home, that’s a life of penance to the deep down, gnawing bully of no-self-worth.
I apologize in a general and sweeping way to each and every person who has followed my monster truck to work, all the while simply wanting me to stay at home and breathe in the budding seeds in my garden and rest and ask the body what it wants us to know each day.
I am enough as I am. My work is enough as it is. And so is yours and yours and yours.
Coming back home isn’t easy, mind you, but it’s very simple. You have to make some hard choices, make some ungraceful exits, fall on your face with a vehicle with no wheels, and package up a large amount of wasted time in a sweat-stained ribbon and kiss it goodbye. And then just go home. Feet up. Laundry tumbling. Windows open, a breeze blushing through the fragile screens. Begin again.
The things that got me started here in MommaStrong are going to be the things I cling to as I come home. Writing; answering questions about the human body that make my whole heart sing and my eyes twinkle; researching and experimenting with new ways to get that muscle to fire and which way to help you stand tall; filming each and every day wth you, in a fluid beautiful together-dance of real mothering; and giving my time to women who need us, who need to not be invisible.
I don’t have any answers about what happens after this journey and, frankly, I’m done caring or predicting. I’m just going to get back to work, doing what I’m here to do. This means it is going to be ugly and often mediocre. But, packing and unpacking are not supposed to glamorous chores, are they? They are sweatpants, dirty hair, pizza for breakfast/lunch/dinner sort of chores. And they are chores that are indescribably miserable without company. Maybe you have some coming home to do too and maybe you want to join me while I do mine? We can keep each other company. And I can keep reminding you that your home is beautiful as is and say thank you for inviting me in.
I’ll be back here as much as I can, maybe daily (who knows) ... but just as a way to keep myself in my lane. I hope to see you here.