Naturally

You do what comes naturally. Hug your children, cook your meals. You spend several year-long minutes tying a knot because there’s beauty in the details and comfort in the time taken.

 

You lose yourself alone in the quiet, possibly humbled, laid low and bare. Not speaking unless there is something to say. You find yourself gentler with your daughters; instead of yelling when they enter your bed at 3AM, you take them by the hands and rub their backs until they drift to sleep. You remember what it’s like to be you, a child herself, standing in the hallway outside her parent’s bedroom, scared to go in, scared to stay out. The memory brings you mercy and relief.

 

You investigate your soul, plumb its depths, tune its strings, and realize that it knows where to go, you just need follow it.

 

It’s not always going to easy, you tell yourself, this newfound but well-worn knowledge of going where you’re led by your heart of hearts, your gut compass, your third eye. But you go there, because what else is there to do. But listen to the faint music swell inside, untie your knots, do what comes naturally.

 

19 thoughts on “Naturally”

  1. How do you get in my head and write the things I have no words for — minus the guilt? You never cease to knock me out, Deb. How you can be descriptive, evocative and spare all at the same time — gorgeous.

  2. When I plumb my soul I worry about my butt crack showing.

    Sorry that was inappropriate in light of the depth and soul of this post.

    The part about 3 AM really resonated. Sometimes when I’m thinking “WTF?” when I’m feeling challenged with something Laura’s up to, I look at her little face and try to just be with her, honor her feelings, and cherish where she is on her path. And sometimes I yell.

    XO

  3. If you can tell me what musical has a song called “Doin’ What Comes Naturally” I will stand on my balcony and shout out to the world how much I love San Diego Momma.

  4. I found myself rhythmically rocking back and forth in my chair as I read this. It could be a song. Beautiful… but now I can’t get the picture of Cheri’s butt crack outta my head. xo

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