It has been the kind of week that I didn’t think I would make it through without destroying my life. I often forget that there’s a power in pausing and allowing before reacting out of fear, based off of emotion. One of the hardest things about healing, for me, is learning when to trust that things are okay and knowing when to jump in and offer some pushback. I’m learning, though, that more damage is done by pushing back at the wrong time than keeping my feet firmly planted and letting the moment pass before evaluating. Here’s to hoping I remember to hit the pause button a little more often, with a little less reluctance. We could all use a little bit of slowing down, after all.
Waves
I didn’t have the privilege of growing up near an ocean but that doesn’t mean I didn’t grow up knowing how it felt for waves to crash over me and sweep me away.
If you’re at all familiar with the symbolism in tarot cards, you’ll know that water and emotions go hand and hand – the calmer the water, the more stable the emotions.
So I didn’t grow up near the ocean but I grew up with more than enough emotion, coming at a high enough intensity, instability, that is more than made up for the lack of water.
Waves have found me lying in bed the moment I open my eyes, my love lying next to me – never snoring but only ever releasing his drama in steady intervals as he sleeps so the valve doesn’t burst and yes, it sounds just like a snore but I can’t say that without the words turning my mouth magnetic.
The pull will first be felt at the corners of my lips and unable to resist it, they’ll stretch into a teeth-baring smile.
Inevitably, my hand will find his cheek and hold me steady, guiding, as the pull draws me straight to his lips.
Do you know what I learned about the ocean as I was making waves, miles away?
Not every wave is going to be a good one and you don’t have to ride every one but there will be nothing you can do to stop them from passing.
The pain is always washed away and replaced if you can just wait it out, endure it, feel it.
When the tears stop pushing to the surface, the pull of kisses will replace them.
What I learned from the ocean as I was making waves, miles away, is that resisting the water can kill you.
Resisting the ocean can kill you in the same way that the emotional intensity, that wave, behind our pain – or inability to be ourselves, can sweep us away, disorient us, and before we know it we’re drowning.
When the coronavirus pandemic hit, we saw just how quickly a death will be mislabeled as a cover-up, to fit an agenda.
What we didn’t see before that is how many times drownings were marked suicide – a gun, a bridge, veering the car over the cliff, way too much Xanax, and that bottle of vodka, stepping into the street at the perfect time to be smashed to smithereens.
I believe that sometimes when the cause of death seems obvious, we stop looking for the truth.
I was 26 the time I got the closest to drowning, the time my lungs were so full of water that I was sure I wouldn’t breathe again.
What you may not know, if you’ve never been close enough to death, is that some accidents are enough to shock our system and require us to relearn the basics – how to talk, how to eat, when to sleep, drinking water, not seeking pain as a reminder.
When I almost drowned, I spent a week, worrying everyone as I relearned to eat, how to be.
I left before I should as pangs of guilt came in little voices through the phone, across the table.
From the hospital, I went home and packed a bag for New Orleans – it’s how I know they shouldn’t have let me leave yet, by their standards – and we drove the 16 hours in one day.
New Orleans wasn’t the same as I had remembered it and it wasn’t the pandemic that ruined it but the company I carried.
The first place I had found that felt like home somehow felt less so with her by my side.
She would never have intentionally told me to be less of myself – she wasn’t that kind of person, but it didn’t mean that I didn’t let parts of myself go, saying it was for her.
Standing in that city, knowing the destruction it has met in the face of water, waves, and seeing the raw emotion that leaks from it streets now – I promised to become New Orleans.
New Orleans doesn’t quiet itself when nature tries to destroy it and I am done quieting myself before I end up destroyed.
When I think about waves now, I remember being at Lake Erie with my best friend and letting the too-strong waves that were pushing past the breakers sweep us up and carry us to shore.
We’d lay against the sand, getting pushed further and further into it as each wave crashed against us, pulling at our bathing suits, threatening to flip us over if we pushed back the wrong away – and it hurt.
I remember how hard we laughed through that pain, enjoying the strength of the waves and their ability to carry bodies that at only 15 we were already sure were too big – but in those moments, we forgot.
When I think about waves now, I remember that the water, our emotions, can all be unpredictable but if you understand that the only thing you can do is allow them to come and experience them as they do, if you can remain calm enough you will always find your way through.
Now, when I think about drowning, I wonder how many mislabeled deaths could have been avoided if we taught people how to exist with the water instead of trying to avoid it.
Much love, until next time.
Madeline May I... 