I miss my largeness.
It used to be there. Rising and swelling inside me like a big, bottomless ocean. Filling all the space inside my chest. Today that ocean feels much more like a puddle. A shallow one that seems to evaporate a little more all the time.
Because dropping down into my own deep water, into the place where my truth and creativity live . . . it’s so hard now. It’s like when you were a kid and you’d grab a beach ball in the pool and try to dive with it wrapped in your arms. But, physics. It won’t let you sink. You just pop right back up, bobbing there upside down like thwarted bug.
That’s the gig though, right? The kids wailing for snacks. The dog tearing open a dirty diaper and dragging it across the carpet. Sink overflowing. Laundry piled to the ceiling. Loud. Chaos. And everyone needs something from me. Everyone. Needs. Something. Always.
So, for a while, I started to think that maybe this is just what happens. To all of us. We all start out (God willing) believing that there’s this vibrant, world-changing greatness within us. A largeness. And we’re going to do things and be things and MAKE THINGS. And then we grow up. Life happens and we learn otherwise.
But I don’t want to believe that.
I know that what I do matters. And I know that I’m so blessed to be able to do it. I wouldn’t change anything. I WANT to be here, at home, with my kids.
But that’s not all I want. I still want myself.
I want the ocean in my chest to roar again. I want to feel and to create. I want to free fall all the way down into myself and then I want to scoop up all my raw, throbbing feelings in my hands and mold them into something that can make you feel something too.
And I need my daughters to see me wanting myself. And pursuing myself.
I still want myself.
Bless the largeness in you. Bless the largeness in me.