The Space Between

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The thoughts flowed freely as I stretched through the many kinks in my body from motherhood. I ached and cracked as I moved through poses one by one at the foot of my baby’s crib, my body desperate to be taken care of. The room was dark, the house still.

Occasionally, I’d hide in his room during naps, finding it so peaceful and calming to my spirit. My little creation, sleeping there (finally) so peacefully. Many intuitive moments have happened in this room. On this day, I quietly stretched. Thoughts flowed through me, so unexpectedly. I grabbed a pen and instructional pamphlet that had fortunately been on his nightstand, and I wrote.

I no longer need to search for purpose. I’ve spent my whole life doing that (really)...it started for me at such a young age. Pre-teen years, if I recall correctly. The years I should’ve been reading “The Babysitters Club” instead of self-help and non-fiction.

I breathed deeper into the aches and pains of my joints, surrendering to my body as I moved from one asana to the next. I felt it bubble up...my body was teaching me something.

We can get so stuck in our ways. We can tell this by stretching the body into an area of discomfort. Our bodies are rigid day to day, moving only within the range of comfortability. When we go into a physical space that’s outside our normal range of motion, we’re sure to feel it. It hurts, it’s uncomfortable, it’s stiff.

My pen kept moving. The baby kept sleeping.

Oh, but how wonderful it feels when we stretch, bend, pulsate. When we let go. When we breathe into new spaces of our body, opening up room for more. Room for more growth, more awareness, more space for a womb that hosts an entire new being...a growing baby. How miraculous is that?

Eyes closed, I breathed, surrendered, and let go even further.

I allow myself to get deeper into this practice of life, of motherhood, of God, I wrote in a mantra-like fashion. I let go, and I surrender.

I love how mothering has become my spiritual practice, or my spiritual practice has become my mothering. Which one is it? I basically found both at the same time. Or, both found me.

Motherhood rescued me in many ways. I’d been seeking and looking for God my whole life. It was through Oliver that I found the way. Being a part of creation...laboring a baby...experiencing the most beautiful thing to mankind. Physically pushing a baby through this body, this temple, where he was nurtured and nourished from just a few tiny cells.

I turned the page of the instructional pamphlet and continued to write in between the printed paragraphs on the page, my pen moving quickly.

Tell me, please, if there wasn’t a God, how could one perform this heroic act of nature?
Tell me, without God, how can one really get through the trying times of motherhood? The sleepless nights? The spectrum of emotions? For some, it must be possible. Women of all walks of life do this.

But for me, I wouldn’t be able to do it alone (nor solely in tandem with my husband). It requires a constant flow of surrendering and letting go, the hardest part for me. I bend, I break, and I mend more than I ever thought was possible.

A channel to a higher power, something much greater than myself, has cracked open. I feel more intuitive, more in sync, more “dialed in” to this crazy thing we call life than ever before.

Then, in true mother-like fashion, I tiptoed out of the room, careful not to make a peep.