A Summer Promise

Permission to Heal

“What are you doing?” my husband asked as I rummaged through our box of shoes to find my flip flops.

“Going to look at the peonies.” I told him. It was 9 pm.

We had arrived at our home for the summer at supper time and after a whirlwind of eating Chipotle, cleaning up, bringing our things in, picking up groceries, finding what we need for bedtime, and putting the kids to bed, I was tired. But then I remembered the peonies.

We stayed here last summer and I had discovered four peony bushes behind the house. Peonies are probably my favorite flower, if I really have to choose a favorite. And if you know peonies, you know they’re only around about a week. I had silently prayed we’d be here for that one week. We would be here just a week before we would leave again for vacation. I didn’t want to miss them.

For a moment I thought, “I’ll just check tomorrow.” I was tired and I tend to do the responsible thing which is to get as much sleep as possible, because it’s not usually possible to get enough. But then I remembered my summer promise — to take care of myself by saying “yes” and “no”.

At the beginning of May, my husband and I had the worst date ever. I had unspoken and unrealistic expectations that were repeatedly unmet. I was cold and annoyed and refused all his attempts to make the date pleasant. What I had wanted from the date was to feel seen and taken care of. In my mind that meant romance and mind-reading of these expectation in the form of the perfect date. The thing is, that is never what our dates are. They range from casual to maybe you need a reservation and want to wear a dress, but definitely not required. Why was this different? Where did these expectations come from? Tears along with frustrated and confused words ended the date.

It wasn’t until after the kids had been picked up and tucked in bed, that these questions could be answered. A wave of grief flowed through my body from head to toe and the sobs followed. Tears washed away the confusion and left me clean and bare. I could now see all the tension and expectations were because my heart was not healed from the miscarriage I had in late February. Not only was it not healed, it wasn’t even healing. I had expected my husband to know this and care for me as such, but I wasn’t even doing this for myself.

After telling an always-intuitive friend about this date and realizing this need for more healing, she said, “Sounds like you need to be more you-focused.” At first I had no idea what that meant.

As I thought about it more, I saw that I had been functioning — and treating myself — as a person in a good emotional and mental place, not as someone with a deep wound who is grieving a loss. I do my best to manage my time well and take care of my basic needs like sleep, exercise, eating well, praying, and take time for myself each week. But I have more than basic needs right now and I have not acknowledged that. I’ve only acknowledged this need here and there, when my emotions flare and make themselves unavoidable — like they did on that date. I had only given myself true space for one day — the day after the miscarriage.

I thought I didn’t have time and space to allow for true healing, but the truth is I don’t have time for emotional flare-ups and unexplained emotions that are the results of not giving this wound space in my life.

And so I made the promise to take care of myself by saying “yes” and “no.” I will need to say no to others, however, the person I need to say “no” to the most is myself. I need to say no to the negative comments and the “shoulds.” I need to say no to the unrealistic expectations that I should be super-human or a saint. I need to say no to the expectation that I should be healed already.

The “yes” part of the promise allows me to be where I am emotionally and who I am, limits and all. It gives myself permission to focus on myself a little more by saying yes to things that make me feel more alive.

I spent some time thinking about things that would be life-giving and still fit into my life as a mother of five. The things that came to mind are simple and basic. They are things that are easily set aside for hustle or zoning out: cross-stitching, growing plants, weeding, reading, writing, looking out the window, sitting with the pain instead of trying to fix it or run away, connecting with my children, noticing beauty. Not all of these are easy or exciting, but they help me feel human. They slow me down. They bring healing.

That terrible date was a wake up call to me, and to my husband as well. He too is trying to care for me more as the person I am right now — a grieving mother.

“Can I come with you?” he asked.

“That would be great.” I said. We walked out the back porch, across the deck, and took a sharp left. It was getting hard to see in the dusk. I made out some swelling buds and then on the last bush, there were some blooms! The first peonies to bloom. We hadn’t missed them and we were there during their one week of blooming. Every single blossom brought beauty and healing to my grieving heart.

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Permission Slip".