I've been away awhile. Healing.
It's been slow and serious business trying to recover. In my case, at the moment it's from surgery following endometriosis excision and hysterectomy for adenomyosis. While I was exuberant early on in a kind of "post exam" euphoria, the heavy side of it all soon took hold. Limitation, lack of exercise (i.e. lowered natural happy-making endorphins), and anxiety over lingering pain has all been taxing. Depression following surgery is apparently a normal deal. It's also a partner to chronic illness. So it's unsurprising that it has become my unwelcome companion. I try to raise my head above it all. My therapist has become a key ally. My naturopath, a rope I cling to. But it's as though I've been thrown into a mid-life crisis of sorts. What am I doing with my life? What's the purpose of any of this? What are my goals? Am I achieving them? I'm sobbing to songs and am brought to my knees at the sight of a butterfly and the idea of forced metamorphosis. On the cusp of 35, I suppose that's ok, but the desire to toss my life in the garbage and recreate myself is disorienting, especially during a time when I'm physically bound, asked to change while standing still.
I still look for hope. I'm dancing with my dog, laughing at myself conspiratorially in the mirror, and hearing a muse I wouldn't have known without the pain. I think of a clover plant I bought in March when I first decided to move forward with surgery. A plant for luck. Within a month I'd killed it. It shriveled under dampness and lack of light. I moved the pot outdoors, planning to put something else into it. But soon the clover reappeared without assistance, stronger than before...the spirit of nature working magic behind the scenes. Could that be me? I've wondered. Am I just in my withered moment? I let out a little scream this morning. I looked out the kitchen window in the flurry of another "running late" morning. Amid the neglected, weed-spotted landscaping (courtesy of the aforementioned limitations) was a single delicate pink rose. I'd sworn the plant was dead. I'd given up on her. But silently, she worked her spell among the weeds. Without help from anyone, she bloomed anyway.
.....
Poem: "This Beautiful Thing"
I didn't sense
it dawning, yet
Suddenly
it was there...
this beautiful thing.
