Andrea Hylen

Day 11 of 100 Days of Blogging

I am so excited!

My youngest daughter, Hannah and I are both moving into separate living environments. I started moving into a community house with seven adults last week. Hannah is still looking for an apt. By the end of June, the transition will be complete. Yeah! The next evolution in our lives. Hannah is 20 and the last of my children living at home. It is time for us to both take the next step in life. I am so excited for both of us!

This is a good thing, right? Then…why was I sobbing on the front lawn last week, after bringing a load of boxes into the new house?

My car was filled with books, kitchen supplies, clothes and a solid wood bookcase. I had a lot of things to “do” and yet something was compelling me to stop. I felt an impulse to sit on the front lawn. Stop for a minute. Sit down. Take a breath.  Stop pushing to get this done. Feel the feelings. Listen for the next step. Just Stop and Be Still.

I found a spot on the lawn with several small, brown mushrooms in a cluster. Sitting on the ground, I immediately felt a physical shift in my body and in my view of the world. Our yard has a white, metal fence with tall tree-like bushes in the front. The view at eye level now was so different. I could only see the feet of the people walking by. I could see the tires on the cars parked on the street. I could see clover, dirt, grass, ants, the roots of the trees.

My whole body relaxed, as I let go of everything on my to do list. I became aware of feelings I was ignoring. A rumbling began in my chest. My heart expanded and a deep sobbing traveled from my heart to my throat and a release of a cry. Tears started to flow with intakes of breath with each deep sob. The feeling was gratitude. A deep, palpable wave of gratitude for the presence of each of my daughters in my life.

I thought about Mary and how she feels more like a sister. When she was in 8th grade something transitioned in the way we felt about each other. There are still times when we are mother and daughter but most of the time, we both feel like we are sisters.

I thought of Elizabeth who I define as my catalyst. She is like the personal trainer who challenges you to run one more mile, to lift 10 lbs more than you thought you could possibly lift, to really let out who you are. From the moment I first held her in my arms in the hospital, she has seen the brilliance of who I really am and has called me into action with her determination and challenge.

I thought of Hannah who was born two weeks after her brother died. Hannah was the child I held in a rocking chair, breast feeding and grieving. Hannah took naps with me during my two years of being physically ill. Hannah was the focus of homeschooling and trips to Jonas Brothers concerts. Her presence in my life and the things I did “for her” created an opportunity for me to experience more creativity and freedom.

Sitting on the front yard, I sobbed. Heart expanding gratitude and letting go.

I write this as a reminder that even good changes can make you cry. A reminder to stop in the midst of the doing and allowing yourself to feel everything.

Change means letting go of one experience to open your arms to another experience. Change means you are releasing something in order to make room for the new. Change can make you cry. 

Enjoy the adventure and let yourself have a good cry.