Wild Writing 3/100

I am listening deeply.

I am hearing my own sadness at not being heard or seen,

my own judgements that I am asking for too much, wanting too much.

This isolation is coming at a time when I am willingly practicing my neediness, my humanness.

When I am sharing emotional honesty with my husband.

I keep trying.

I say to him, “But nothing’s working. Not THC or food or CBD or sleep or slowing down or orgasms or TV or calling my people because they’re too fucked up to pick up and I am left alone.”

And I sit up on the kitchen counter in my underwear and he kisses me with his quarantine beard and shaggy uncut hair and he turns his back to my chest and wraps my arms around him, and with my knees at his hips and my chin on his shoulder, we rock.

This is soothing me. (This is somatic.)

This is me giving into my body’s need for physical comfort and care, something I don’t remember receiving as a child,

and also, how could I possibly regulate myself on/against someone who was so unregulated herself?

But now I know. I understand.

Earlier today I let my daughter throw her fierce, angry, spewing, screaming body on top of mine on my bed and I let her feel me underneath while furious and confused screaming racked her body

I gave her what I had not been given and what I struggle to give myself,

a person who can hold the space

Who can sit in it with you and not waiver,

no matter how much you scream.

(Prompt inspired by Glennon Doyle’s conversation with Brene Brown on the Unlocking Us podcast. I am creating a timed piece of wild writing every day for 100 days for this year’s 100 Day Project.)