It has taken me too long to select the New Post option and I am not entirely sure why. After all, I will soon be celebrating three whole months of glorious Morning Pages, my good old ritual that hit full stop as soon as Lulu was born. Clearly, my writing muscle has been practiced, even though my muse tends to be the two-year-old on my lap who devours unreasonable amounts of berries while filling up my pages with her own writing style. Maybe it's the difference between writing to myself (more accurately my diary, "who" has a very distinct persona that took life in GUTS) and writing publicly? Or maybe I have just been too preoccupied with being preoccupied with the fact that I haven't been producing blogs? Bottom line is that celebrating my birthday a few days ago sent me back to last year's birthday post, which resulted in whetting my public writing appetite.
 |
| Liat Bulb |
Reading the post made it easy to reflect on my last birthday and I was pleased to count the ways I have grown since. But to my surprise, I was also pleased to realize how I am still challenged, a year later. See, I have unearthed the old me in the last few weeks, and for the first time since Lulu was born, I feel truly open to releasing knots, letting go and rediscovering myself. Any goal appears more accessible these days.
You don't have to believe me. You probably shouldn't. Reading old blogs will prove why. Not too proud to admit, but I have befriended that "I'm back" phase before, in fact right here...Remember the March 2014 post Setting Up a New Stage- My Old Me is Reborn?? I was so elated to come up with my In Your Face Mama which I was about to turn into a video series. Series my ass. Ideas kept vanishing before I even wrote them down, let alone materialized them and then they stopped coming all together. Then the next cycle surfaced, giddy and all, and this time I may have or may have not written ideas down. On occasion, I actually started something, but then my creativity entered another hibernation phase (in my defense, we did have an abusive winter.) Where did my famous integrity go? (Motherhood undermines your "anything-else" integrity . Discuss.) It was replaced by shameless, baseless declarations of crippled wishful thinking combined with digging even deeper into the swamp of my safe, familiar all-inclusive mothering.
You don't have to believe me. You probably shouldn't. Reading old blogs will prove why. Not too proud to admit, but I have befriended that "I'm back" phase before, in fact right here...Remember the March 2014 post Setting Up a New Stage- My Old Me is Reborn?? I was so elated to come up with my In Your Face Mama which I was about to turn into a video series. Series my ass. Ideas kept vanishing before I even wrote them down, let alone materialized them and then they stopped coming all together. Then the next cycle surfaced, giddy and all, and this time I may have or may have not written ideas down. On occasion, I actually started something, but then my creativity entered another hibernation phase (in my defense, we did have an abusive winter.) Where did my famous integrity go? (Motherhood undermines your "anything-else" integrity . Discuss.) It was replaced by shameless, baseless declarations of crippled wishful thinking combined with digging even deeper into the swamp of my safe, familiar all-inclusive mothering.
But just like the warm sun we woke up to one day this spring, assuring us that awful winter is done with, my integrity is shining again. I promise!
I really am back, as much back as I can imagine a new mama being back.
 |
| Warm spring sun |
You see, I reached a major breakthrough about two months ago: I went to visit my Abba for the first time on the last day of our Israel trip. Even though I blogged last year about stepping ahead in my grieving process, while acknowledging two years to losing him, it was a mere delusion, one of many I have maintained so craftily in the last two and a half years. I had been carrying the heaviest load for so long and denial was no longer serving me (believe me it served me in new motherhood.)
Of course I had to be forced. My mom told me I would not leave Israel before I went to the cemetery, a word I couldn't even think of, not to mention say out loud. I am so thankful for her ultimatum because after the breakdown and the uncontrolled tears at the cemetery, I reached a calm place that surprised me tremendously.
I found myself asking my mom to leave me alone with him. For the first time since he left us I talked to him. I talked a lot. First with a trembling voice, then with much clearer words. I leaned on the cold stone and it comforted me, almost as if I was hugging him. I couldn't stop talking and I didn't want to leave. I finally opened my heart to acceptance of this cruel reality, and even though it hurts so much, it's accompanied by a new sense of peace and strength I hadn't been able to feel while the pain was eating me inside. And ever since that day my smiles seem fuller, my laughs are back to being annoyingly loud and my insomnia has practically disappeared.
 |
| Fuller smiles. Birthday '15 |
Two weeks before he passed away, my Abba asked me at his hospital bed to continue to live fully and happily. I was upset that he dared to utter these words, as I expected him to make a full recovery and live to enjoy the granddaughter who was growing inside me at the time. I expected him to share with me many years of happiness, hugs, kisses and our secret language. I did not prepare myself for what happened ten days after we landed in New York. When we received the news I refused to mentally "go there" and for hours I repeated the word NO. The word NO became my go-to for many months whenever I started sinking into the pain of missing my Abba. NO, it didn't really happen. NO, I'm not saying goodbye. NO!
The powerful release at the cemetery enabled me to come to terms with life without his physical presence. It opened me up to connecting with and even deriving strength from his non-physical presence in our lives, including our Lulu who now has access to her remarkable Sabba. No longer hiding photos, I was looking at him recently with her, finding myself teaching her his name (Sabba Itzik) and tearfully sharing funny stories. A victorious moment.
Acceptance set me free. Life has become easier to manage, lighter if you will, and my optimistic disposition has finally resurfaced. I can now redirect the enormous energy it took me to hold on to denial. I can now experience uninhibited pleasure outside the safe cocoon of my motherhood and relationship with Goog. I am one step closer to what my Abba wanted me to do.
 |
| No more hiding photos |
Acceptance set me free. Life has become easier to manage, lighter if you will, and my optimistic disposition has finally resurfaced. I can now redirect the enormous energy it took me to hold on to denial. I can now experience uninhibited pleasure outside the safe cocoon of my motherhood and relationship with Goog. I am one step closer to what my Abba wanted me to do.
Another completely different game changer is that at 25 months, Lulu has weaned from breastfeeding, but this post is now at risk of becoming impossibly lengthy. Let's leave that topic for another time. (There we go, I can undoubtedly return to blogging because whether I make sense or not, there is no lack of topics over here.) I'm trying to make a point here. My new-found liberated state of mind, heart and soul is making any goal more attainable. My original intention here was to see whether I have met any of the goals I set out for myself on my last birthday, but as someone who doesn't believe in resolutions I find myself smiling while revisiting the short list, knowing I have met one sweeping, momentous accomplishment that makes everything else at least appear more feasible.
 |
| Practicing momentum |
If you read all the way here, I salute you. Thank you for sticking around while I turn the lights back on in my mental blogging space (and open the windows. Phew. Must air out this joint.) And you know how I said before that you shouldn't believe me? I have officially decided: Maybe this time you actually should.
