I awake feeling something I cannot name,
Something that feels unusual in my soul.
Until it comes to me softly,
And whispers its name to my heart…Wistful.
A long, quiet Sunday stretches out before me,
An empty day that is mine to create.
And while there is peace in my home,
There is none in my heart.
My soul is restless after so much heaviness,
It longs to leave the dark behind.
It’s exhausted from loss after loss,
And yearns for the understanding that only crashing waves might bring.
Running away will solve nothing, I know,
And there is much adulting to do.
But this morning, the wistfulness envelops me,
Holds tight to my heart, begging me to listen.
I quiet my mind…she’s such a chatty little bugger.
And instead, tap into the quieter voice.
The reassuring one that tells me to put my hand over my heart,
And trust where she leads me.
She urges me to let go of the what ifs,
And to feel no regrets about working so hard to keep my heart open.
Especially in the moments when it doesn’t feel fair,
When I wonder about what might have been.
The world has been heavy and even darker than my heart,
But for a few special souls who have held me up when I needed it.
Their lights shining on me,
Until they finally flickered and went out, too.
No longer able to illuminate the shadows in my corners,
No longer willing to sit in my muck,
Lest it pull them down, too,
And make them feel things they don’t want to feel.
The music that was once a salve, I can no longer listen to,
The one thing that soothed me to watch, now brings pain.
The only thing that supports me now is listening,
To my heart, and to the written wisdom of others that helps me begin to understand.
I dive deep into the trauma that breaks us,
The lost connections we all so desperately need,
The anxiety we feel because of our world and our triggers,
And the boundaries we all need that can unintentionally keep others at bay.
I swim in this knowledge gained, grateful for the opportunity to learn,
But still wistful for what could have been,
Or what might have never been.
And I drown in the unfairness of it all.
I feel floaty and flighty,
Unfocused and unfiltered.
Waiting for it to all make sense,
Knowing that perhaps it never will.
A wistful Sunday spent diving deep down below,
But on the surface, I focus on only doing the next right thing.
Folding this blouse, warm from the dryer,
Washing this dish, collected from my son’s room.
It is these mindful activities that get me through my day,
As I watch the thoughts drift in and out of my restless mind.
Chop wood, carry water, Christy.
Breathe in, breathe out, sweet soul.
The best way out is through, I know.
So I take another deep breath,
Drink a glass of water,
And pick up another t-shirt to fold.