I wrote last week about the paradox of being blown open by grief, and of being showered (read: torrential down-poured) by love at the same time. What I’ve gained from this confusing calamity of emotion is a lot more shoreline on my riverbanks, more bandwidth to my radio channel, more depth of feeling, and perhaps most challenging, greater capacity to receive.
People have been aiming their L O V E H O S E on me.
I’ve been so thirsty.
I didn’t even know.
And it makes me waiver.
Oscillating between feelings.
satiated | burdensome
It gives me the mirror I’ve always wanted.
Since I can remember.
When I was five,
I watlz’d into another kid’s birthday party.
Shouted, “Hey, I bet you’re glad to see me!”
See me.
And then things happened.
Like they do, to all of us.
And I changed.
“Wait, don't!”
Don’t see me like this.
I’m frumpled and messy.
I forgot the day.
But… I am so glad you’re here.
Won’t you stay?
paradox.
In the middle, I didn’t know who was in there.
Who they might see.
Now that my guards were down.
It frightened me.
To be mirrored in my grief.
But I made Mom a promise.
Now I would.
So with what grace I can,
I say yes
Or sometimes, yeeaaaaasss s s s.
When a friend offers me love.
This is the portal.
The second birth.
Into a world without my Mother.
With a thinner veil over heart and skull,
I feel how much they love me.
I know who I am to them.
I see what they see in me.
Each individually
Adds up to a mosaic.
And I grow into the beauty
Reflected from their eyes,
Into my own eyes,
Same as my Momma’s eyes.
If you’ve ever lost someone close to you, I wonder if you also had this journey, and what you did in the midst of it. I spoke to a friend today who lost her mother at 17, and she told me she was love bombed too, but she couldn’t take it, it reminded her too much about what she lost. She deflected all the love. She said, only 30 years later, is she able to go into that grief. She has a good therapist.
Another friend warned me that people were going to give and give and it might fatigue me from all the attention. But let it in, she said.
During my mother’s last days, I made a promise to her that I would be gracious and receive all the love that anyone was so kind to send me, in all the forms it came in. I was blown away by many who sat with me, brought me food/flowers, gave me bodywork, offered me financial help, called me or texted me every few days. I learned how to love a grieving person through their selfless display. And along the way, I learned I was worthy of all that love.
People tell me nice things a lot, but I don’t think I really knew how to receive them… into my heart. I mean, not to sound braggy, but I’m good at what I do. But there’s always been this part of me that didn’t believe them in my core.
That changed.
Whatever happened to me, passing through this portal was like a second birth. Well, maybe I’ve only got one inch of my head out I don’t know, but I’ve changed into someone who can now see my authentic self, know I have value, allow others to share their appreciation of me, and actually receive it. I’ve got sunlight on my noggin, y’all!
I’ve always wondered how some people seem to be so… capable. Mothers. Damn what mothers can do! Speaking their heart effortlessly with no regard for what other people might think. I know that sounds like a yogi tea affirmation, but I’m feeling that creeping up on me! It’s wild and exciting and fucking terrifying. New radio frequencies and bandwidth.
I mean, what am I, me, Sarah Louisignau even capable of anyway?? It’s making me tremble with possibility, and then I have to lie down for a 3-hour nap. It’s really weird being aware of this happening, I tell ya.
Blown apart has its perks I guess.
I also heard from fellow grief travellers that there’s a slower time coming when the calls and visits slow down, and when I’ll find more layers. I think the season will be fitting, autumn. I’m looking forward to long hikes out at Mother Lake Michigan, through the dunes and forests that I love.
However, for now, I still need ya.
And I love ya.
I can’t believe what I’ve been invited into, by being willing to say this: I need you.
Case in point: I know this is going to sound crazy, but I led my first retreat last weekend, it was called The Living Pelvis Retreat. The group of women who said yes patiently waited (and wondered) when my mom passed, whether I would be able to still do it.
I talked to my assistants, and I listened to my two dearest friends, and everyone said, feel into yourself deeply, we believe in you. No one tried to advise me, they just held me up. THIS is what being supported feels like.
And I had the feeling distinctly that I was accompanied by energy beings, maybe it was my mom in spirit, maybe my angelic guides, the sacred feminine, or my shewolves, but I knew I wouldn’t be doing this alone.
Three weeks after my mother’s death I held my own retreat. Fifteen years in the dreaming, two months in the planning. And it was spectacular.
I’ll say that again.
Spectacular. (any Empire Records fans?)
With all the fascial fibers of my being, I’m grateful. These women, these inspiring, committed, wild, and wondrous creatures made magic beside me.
So many moments were like dreams come true for me as a facilitator. I watched these women test their edges in every way, get truthfully vulnerable with one another, build bonds that will last a lifetime, strengthen their living pelvic connection, and hold one another up in what felt to me like pure worshipfulness.
We cried, and sang, and laughed, and moved, and danced, and napped, and ATE, and steamed and sunned our pussies.
I could not have done it without my beings holding me steady, working logistics, managing the kitchen, arranging the flowers, and bringing their own special juju, bringing me clarity of voice. Shoulder-to-shoulder sisterhood was felt by all, but especially me. I needed this as much as anyone. Mom was with us all weekend and it was probably my favorite weekend of all time.
And somehow miraculously, the sentiment I’m sharing about here was mirrored in one of my feedback surveys. This makes me see; there’s power in showing yourself in grief. You get to see your authentic self.
From a woman with a living pelvis:
“This was the most connected and protected I’ve felt in circle here at home. Ever. It has been an opportunity for me to see more clearly the walls I’d built around myself. I feel broken open a bit in a good way. The cracking open makes room for my heart and capacity for love to grow. AND there is another layer of sadness coming forward for me to feel around how alone I’ve made myself in the past. I’m really honoring this part of me and giving it space to unwind itself.”
Here’s a link to a cute Reel I made about it.
Don’t quite know how to end this one today. Lots of rambling and run-on sentences again. Giving less fucks about it today.
I’ll take that win.
Love, love,
Sarah WM