Fall is here, I suppose. I couldn’t be 100% sure as it was shorts weather yesterday and parka weather today. I don’t care much for pumpkin spice except in candle form. The ones in the glass jar always make me feel like I baked something. Baking makes my hair hurt, so candles it is. The leaves are whispering hints, and I bought four strangely-shaped pumpkins because they looked so cute at the grocery store. So yes, Autumn, Fall, Changing and so on. I walked my little pumpkin to school this morning, and she collected two leaves along the way, one orange, one yellow, because “mommy, they won’t be here after school.” We tucked them into her unicorn backpack (please love unicorns forever, little one) front zipper pocket for safe-keeping and stood in a patch of sunlight, blowing our cold noses, waiting for her bell to ring. She doesn’t like to leave me nor I her. We have what I call a “spirit animal” connection. She stands each day in line waving furiously to me until her slip of an arm crosses the school door threshold, and we are out of sight from each other. Then we both hold our breath until she leaps into my arms again at 3:21pm.
I took my girl (fur baby), Lolo, and my weary body (it’s been a long week or year, whichever) and walked on to the park under some more autumn trees. As colored leaves tumbled by, I felt the familiar chill. It’s not to be blamed on Canada, though they have plenty of weather here to endure. Rather it is “the grey” chill I have come to know and understand. It is a bone-deep ache in the spirit that feels like chapped lips combined with nausea from spinning too much. I have spent my fair share of time in and with “the grey”, and I whisper my same things every time I find myself in the grimy alleyways of rat trash: You have been here before. You know how to get home. Breathe. Start walking.
I know my triggers. Sometimes. I do not do well with new places and lack of routine. Oops. PMS is a mind f*ck of grand proportions, and I have to spend a lot of time on my yoga mat. Cloudy weather and rain make me start to panic if it goes on for more than two days. I also don’t do well away from water. I currently live in the middle of a city, so I sit in the bath mostly. When necessary I read poetry, book after book, and listen to songs over and over- different ones until I have completely dissected them and understood every lyric. I call them my ‘writing songs’. This week has been Shallow written by Lady Gaga (and Mark Ronson, Anthony Rossomando, Andrew Wyatt, need to credit all of those writers because it is an incredible song).
“Tell me something girl, Are you happy in this modern world? Or do you need more? Is there something else you’re searchin’ for? I’m falling.”
I don’t know, do you need more? Are you happy in this world? And guess what? You can answer honestly.
It was World Mental Health Day on Wednesday. I read so many posts and ideas about self-care that day. Which I loved. And I despaired over. Because the word “self-care” is a double-edged sword to me. We all know we need to sleep and exercise and eat well and “prioritize our own well-being first” (the whole flight attendant speech about get your own oxygen mask on first)….yeah, yeah, yeah….duh. I have a therapist or two. But sometimes, first, we yell at loved ones or accidentally cry for 12 hours straight or don’t answer when people ask us “how we are” or worse we say “fine, I’m fine, everything is fine” or we eat all of the Oreos in the pantry or nothing at all or we drink, a lot, and then we have to quit or we lose patience with our children or greasy hair stains our pillows or the bags under our eyes start to trickle down to our chins or it takes us a bit longer than reading an Instagram post to remember we have to wash the mud off of our faces. It is called depression. There are many clinical terms and a wide range of “how bad is it” charts. But none of that matters. It can last an hour or two. Sometimes much longer. It just hurts. I know.
I have watched and held vigil with some of you in the trenches. I can’t make it better. But I see you. I will remind you to slash away at the grey, and let the orange rain down. Let the light in, baby, whenever you can. I always envision myself kicking off concrete walls, like a parkour ninja, and somersaulting into my own rays of sunshine.
Piper and I have a thing. We squeeze each other’s hands three times to say “I got you. I love you. I will be back. I won’t leave you. You are brave. You are kind and wise. I will read more stories to you, and I will catch you if you fall.”
Three hand squeeze pumps coming to you, my loves. xoxoxoxoxoxox
