Hello friend,
While the weather app on my phone still shows temperatures close to 90 degrees for the next seven days, the 21st night of September brought a breeze that doesn’t feel like the heavy air that comes from opening the door to a sauna room.
It’s a win.
I’m sitting on my IKEA couch in the back patio, looking at the tree branches dangling over the screen enclosure. When we moved to this house almost ten years ago, she had just been planted. A black fabric strap rested on the v-shaped base of two branches that looked more like two skinny sticks, about 40 inches from the ground. The strap was supposed to hold her to the ground until her roots were strong and deep enough to keep her in place.
As a city girl, I didn’t really pay attention to things in my yard. I guessed that eventually, that strap would, I don’t know, break and fall. That Scott, the British guy who mows the lawn and trims the bushes, would take care of it when the time was right.
It was only after Hurricane Matthew (October 2016), while walking outside, assessing, and taking in our first hurricane aftermath that I noticed the strap around the tree again. I gave it a push. It barely moved. The strap was stretched to the max. The tree, besides still being short, had grown thicker.
I cut the strap with my kitchen scissors. The part that touched the v-shaped intersection between the branches looked like it had been embraced, engulfed by the tree. Bark grew over the fabric, looking like she had claimed that strange object as part of her own. When I pulled the strap and felt it wouldn’t come out, I wondered if maybe the tree held on to it as a reminder of when she needed support.
That piece of strap is now invisible as the tree grew tall and wide in the last eight years. Her strength kept her steady during hurricanes and tornados. She’s a badass. She’s winning.
I have been celebrating lots of wins in my professional life. I’ve launched new programs and had my efforts in the arts community recognized with a significant award. I can see the progress even on days when things don’t go exactly as planned.
I’m winning.
On the other hand, I am far from feeling like a winner when it comes to understanding how to let Mel, my little tree, grow and go through her own rainy days, hurricanes, and tornados. She reminded me the other day in a conversation that even when it’s sunny with a breeze outside, it doesn’t mean that there isn’t a storm inside.
I always understood mental health issues as external factors affecting our ability to stay afloat mentally and emotionally. I work hard to give her a life that is safe in all aspects and filled with love and fun. I thought that that was the perfect recipe. I thought I had it down to a T.
I didn’t.
I don’t.
I feel like a loser.
I am learning to make space for the sun and the rain for my little tree. I’m learning to be a soft strap — soft enough to hold and protect without preventing her growth. That stays strong during intense weather. That moves around with the wind. One that will always be with her, even when I’m no longer here.
This quote by Valerie Kaur has been helpful in hopeless times. Since I read it for the first time in 2016, it introduced darkness from another perspective: One that holds to the idea that something beautiful is coming.
“What if this darkness is not the darkness of the tomb but the darkness of the womb?”
Thank you for sticking with me.
Sending you love.
“What if this darkness is not the darkness of the tomb but the darkness of the womb?”
Love that!! Thank you for sharing. ❤️