How I live with the pieces of my heart that exist outside myself in my children
How do you hold something you care about so much you would give your life?
One part of my heart is now 5. She is full of life and imagination and sings from the moment she wakes to the moment her eyelids flutter closed.
One part of my heart is 4. He has followed her games for so long that it is a joy now to see him emerge with his own as they clash heads, both now wanting to lead the play. He is soft and strong and likes to ensure we are all looked after.
These two pieces of my heart that exist outside myself are nearing the end of the years when I will still be able to pick them up and hold them in a full-body hug. I lean in and hold tight as those little legs and thin arms wrap around me, covering me in wet smooches all over my cheeks before nuzzling into my neck.
The moment each was born, there was such an ache at that piece of my heart being pulled outside my body. I didn’t know what vulnerability was until it was there, outside myself, outside my control.
Life’s biggest lessons had begun, and I struggled while holding my breath, standing back, knowing better but knowing there were missteps you must take yourself. Oh, the ache of it. The constant learning to let go so you can grow and become yourself, my little ones.
I had never thought of myself as holding a piece of my mother’s heart, no doubt a sign of her excellence in the role because I wanted for so little. But now I know I do and can see it when I look in the direction of the ache my little ones have carved out of me. I can see her love as I now see my love pouring into all I do every day to give them a space to love every part of themself.
How do you hold something you care about so much you would give your life? Especially when you know that holding isn’t holding on at all; it is letting go.
My holding on to them erupts into tight hugs. I lean into the big cheek smooches and tuck away the notes and cards they have begun to write to me.
I hold on by loving them as they are and in all they are drawn to, encouraging them while I blink back the tears that tumble out of me at the sight of any independence they grow into. Out there in the big world, a piece of my heart runs around, screaming with joy, looking to me for acknowledgement, loving me as much as I love them.
It is in the kiss on the forehead I can still sneak in after they are asleep, and I didn’t realise I would still do that at 4 and 5. I also don’t know how I will ever give it up, seeing myself still sneaking them on sleepy teenage foreheads.
You hold on like it is sand. To retain sand, your hand must stay open, for held too tightly, it all falls through your fingers, with little remaining.
You hold onto those pieces of your heart that are out in the world by remaining achingly open to it all.
A couple of hours earlier, I read Two More Weeks by
and found tears tumbling down my cheeks. It inspired me to reflect on my own fleeting moments of motherhood, and the words on this page tumbled over each other onto the page.P.S. I hope you enjoyed the accompanying soundtrack. It too, was part of the inspiration that wrote this post.
This strikes such a chord! I became a mother less than a year ago and this is exactly how i described it at the beginning, as if my heart was pulled out, suddenly living outside my body, on its own two feet. Beautiful vulnerability, but also achingly scary. Lovely post ♥️
This is so tender. ♥️