Breathe. Pause. Breathe. Pause. Breathe. I've come to be amazed by how much I've missed out on by being a chronic shallow breather my whole life. Deep breaths, when repeated and focused on, perform miracles on the self-physically and mentally.
From the first time I dreamt of this adventure and throughout the entire planning process, the ONE moment I dreaded the most was saying goodbye to my family. My stomach threatened to burst out of my throat every time my mind jumped to this moment. I vividly predicted with steadfast confirmation quite the scene - my mom, frustrated with herself for being unable to find the eloquent words she's always searching for and painfully omitting bursts of "Please stay safe", "I'm very proud of you", and "I love you so much, okay?? SO much." Then there's my brother, either trying to lighten the mood or not fully grasping the situation's weight, and squirming out of my desperate hugs while mumbling something profound like, "See ya". I hope he knows the deep love that I have for him--the whole universe resides within me, and that whole universe gushes with adoration for this little man. Eddie, my step-dad, would be silent in the background, once in a while making his dog whisperer "Tss!" in a half-hearted attempt to get Noah to stand still. His hug will move me the most. I'm sure there are a combination of reasons for it; my lack of real love from a real man throughout my life, my commendation of him for willingly enduring all the hellish battles as the step-dad in my chaotic family, and the intense yet distant love between us that's always yearned to do more and be more. If I was still composed by this point, all of those things put together in one big, warm hug that finally shows me that security I'm always wishing for, would undoubtedly cue the waterworks full-force. Then I would suddenly break away, telling myself to ease the pain by not looking back but not obeying. This pit of despair would last for days as I dwelt on all the lost time and my mis-prioritization that took away from potentially precious and definitely formative memories with them.
Thankfully, it didn't turn out this bad.
Sure, I cried. And I hugged with every part of my spirit at attention. And my throat swelled up too much to allow more than a word or two to escape. I didn't want to speak anyway; It would have just made things harder. And I had to conjure up every bit of willpower I could to break away and take those steps away from my dear ones. I looked back, probably too much. Once I looked and gasped in despair when I couldn't see them for a half second, "They're already gone?! I'm not ready yet!" And then the flood of relief when I moved half an inch and regained sight of them. They stayed there until I was through security and turned the corner to my gate. Maybe they stayed there even longer. I'd like to think that.
Walking through security, I kind of surprised myself. My calming phrase of choice just happens to be exactly what I told my kids in childcare whenever they bumped their heads or realized mommy was out of sight: "You're okay. You know why? Because you are so strong and brave, right? Right." Yes, I am a strong, brave soul with so much love to infinitely fuel it. Making the connection to my old childcare job, I then remind myself of something I wrote a little while back. I was missing my loved ones so much it was paralyzing. I ended up comforting myself by writing out what I would tell my chilcare babies or friends if I needed to help them in the same situation (amazing advice given to me by my mom that continues to be the perfect self problem-solving tool):
"What do you do when you miss someone so much that you can feel your soul wilt? Just like I tell the little kids in childcare when they cry for their mommies taking class around the corner, their mom is close-by and will be back in view very soon. They havent abandoned them and taken their love with them-that love is still flowing to and through them both. Even when we aren't with the one we so long for a hug from or at least visual proximity, their love that undoubtedly flows to us is still there. We must acknowledge this and allow that love to connect to us, re-firing our hearts and warming our souls. Likewise, we can meditate on the infinite love, forgiveness, compassion, and well-wishing that exists inside of us, sending it out to those for whom we are longing. We are always connected, as long as we allow it. Literally, let the love flow."
It's good that I write things like that down. I need those visual reminders of my own advice too often.
My studies about spirituality and life are continuously emphasizing the utter importance of living in the moment. My mom approached me today with the same resolve. She told me how she kept coping with my leaving by telling herself that it won't be THAT long until she sees me again, and she'll essentially just be counting down the days. Then her best friend suggested a possibly better tactic, to just take it day by day. Now my mom switched her countdown phrases of my return and probable chance of living with her, to excitedly anticipating what I'm going to be learning each new day. One day at a time. Her eyes sparkle as she wonders.
Her comfort becomes my comfort.
One last look at my absolutely beautiful, kick-ass family, then I cue the self-discipline and turn around while repeating to myself, "Don't look back. Keep walking. It's easier this way." Pulse rising and eyes swelling, body becoming numb and each step becoming robotic, I remind myself-return to the breath. Gradually my pulse slows, tears recede, and my heart-usually triggered into the trained response to close up into safe withdrawal, opens up. Allowing all the love from my family and the universe to flood in; my heart sighs with content as I realize this is all its ever wanted. It's critical that everyone has a strategy to engage in when undergoing a hardship. Looks like I've found mine: Breathe. Pause. Breathe. Pause. Breathe.
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