who i was

who was i?

was i a dancer?  a singer?  an artist?  a writer?  a healer?  

a teacher?  a mentor?  a friend?  

a counselor?  a sister?  a mother?

a child?  perhaps of some expansive, nameless God?

who was i?

searching for me

I wonder where I went, where I got lost, where I am going.

I wonder what I want.

Mostly it's simple- I want my kids, all of us together in a safe home, playing, laughing, running, jumping, dancing.

And then... there is the me from before.

Before I got hurt, there was a teeny tiny small me, who hadn't yet created dreams for herself.  I was just... there.  Existing, in a baby body, taking in the world around me.  

I wish I could hold me.  I want to by my own mother, to soothe me and stroke my baby fine hair and tickle my toes and give me my milk and rock me to sleep, to kiss me on my soft baby head, and watch me sleep.

I want to hold my little hand as I learn to walk, to experience my toddler-sized joy and wonder, I want to kiss my little tiny fingertips that simply must reach out and touch the world.

I don't know what happens next.

I don't remember it, but my body does.  I don't even know how or where to start in therapy... how do you describe something that happened to you before you even knew what you are?

home

 I am home.

I am safe in my body.

I am home.

I am safe in my voice.

I am home.

I am safe in my writing.

I am home.

I am safe with my children.

My children are safe with me.

I am home.

I am home.

I am home.