It’s the last week of January and I have mostly listened to my animal self.
Until the recent sleet and above-freezing days, we had good snow for a week, and I skied in the woods behind the farm nearly every day. A couple of nights by headlamp and moonlight, too.
I never skied at night before this winter.
Before, I’d be with my son while my husband, Edge, cooked dinner, or vice-versa. Now, if I miss an afternoon ski, forces converge to get me outside: a few years of inner work peeling back the layers of burn-out; Edge telling me to simply declare what I need and then do it; my son, now 10 years old, needing me less, wanting me less.
When Edge first told me to declare what I need and then do it, I sneered. I didn’t think it was possible for both parents to have the ability to do this. I questioned if he meant it, if he understood what it would mean for me to act more like a man when it came to my needs. What would happen to all that I hold together if I just dropped out for an hour or a day, or that precarious slice of time after work and before dinner. Who would take up the slack? What would be forgotten? This is the weight of motherhood, even when you have a partner who tells you to take care of yourself. Even then, a lifetime of social conditioning is often louder than the pulse of the forest calling to the pulse of my body.
This is why self care isn’t enough – we need the care of others who will hold the space.
Who will say: I don’t know what’s in your head, but I am capable of taking up the slack. Who will look at you and say, stop defending your anxiety. Who will defend that statement when you’re offended by it. Who will light up when you open the door after a night time ski and be psyched to hear how it was.
We need, too, the care of our own selves being okay with a few things being forgotten, or not done how we would do them. We need the love of our own selves to be stronger than the need for control.
Or is it just me I’m talking about?
Yesterday, since the snow was crusted over with ice, I snowshoed instead. Out among the trees, my mind quieted and then enlivened. I moved slowly, posting through the crust, as my dog Gracie pranced on top of it. I didn’t go as far as I thought I would – the work of breaking trail took precedence over distance. That’s okay. Sometimes we cover a lot of ground when we’re mothering ourselves, and sometimes we move slowly, deliberately, pausing to catch our breath. It’s in those pauses that the ripple of water lifts to our ears. When we remember the flow continuing beneath ice and snow, always there even when we cannot see it.
I meant to write about mothering and farming in this post – I have a series of interviews with other mothers who farm to share with you over the next few weeks. More on that soon!
I meant to write about seed catalogs and some of my favorite varieties, too, but that will come another day.
Coming up:
I’ll be presenting at the NOFA-VT Conference on February 17. My workshop on Cultivating Connection: Redefining Marketing as Relationship Building is for farmers looking for strategies to market their businesses in a way that feels good to them and their customers. Let me know if you’ll be there!
I'd love to join you in the woods, those lovely woods with a stream definitely rippling under the snow, but will be satisfied instead with your words and my memories knowing there are many ways to the same end. Hugs
In our family, I'm the one who asks for what I need while trying to puzzle out the needs of my partner. Early on in motherhood, a (single) mother friend really encouraged me to be clear about what I needed, to fill my own cup whenever I could, so that I could be more compassionate and open for the ones I loved, and her advice has served me well. One thing to know is that, at least for me, if I'm not doing something, it doesn't always mean I expect my partner to do it! Often, it means I don't think it's as necessary as whatever else I/we are doing. Also, it can be hard to watch your partner exhaust themselves when you know they need a break and won't ask for it, when you know they are stretched so thin that they may bristle and snap when you recommend it to them.
That being said, sending love to all three of you as you find new ways and rhythms in your days.