Grateful Again

After countless cycles of finding myself squeezed into as small a ball as I can tighten and trying to relax out of that tightness, I arise at 4:30 to write. I tried talking myself down from the ceiling and into sleep again so many times, that I finally gave up. The hover muscles won. It is enough that I did sleep some. I’m grateful for the mercy of whatever rejuvenation I received; I’m grateful for the muse nudging me to get my butt out of bed.

Yesterday morning held one of those watershed moments for me. I stopped stifling myself and shared one of the songs I’ve written over the years out loud in a group where it truly fit.

What better context than a workshop entitled The Resilient Child could there be for this song that I wrote in 1989?

I cry for the children whose terrors come in the night

Who tremble through ‘til the morning 

And walk the day without light

I cry for the children who forget what they mustn’t know

Who bravely smile at a stranger 

To hide what they mustn’t show

I cry for all the ones whose secret’s never been told

I cry for those of us who kept it ‘til we were old

I cry for the young ones whose eyes stare blind into space

Whose smile seems so disconnected 

From tears that once stained their face

I cry for the power that was stripped but not really lost

The first time ever they were touched

Too young that boundary was crossed

I cry for all the ones who are struggling hard now, like me

To heal the ancient wounds and taste what it means 

to be free

We are all little children with nightmares, yearning for light

The deeper we dare into darkness, the more we’re given 

true sight

So we toddle like children, small steps and small victories

Freshly facing the old situations, re-writing our own histories

I cry for all the love we needed when we were small

I cry and with the tears - begin dissolving the wall...

Someday I’ll fly-y-y-y-y...

I Cry For the Children lyrics and music by Melinda Maxwell-Smith,1989

After I sang it to my thirty or so fellow students and the two teachers of the workshop, I shook and shook and shook for a good twenty minutes while the workshop went on and I wrote shaky notes. The waves of shiver-shake moved through fiercely - until they softened and finally subsided. Then feelings of warmth, calm and contentment filled me from tippy-toe to the top of my head. A familiar feeling of a veil being lifted made all the colors in the room more vivid and I felt more connected to eveyone there.

It’s so easy for this “kid in the closet” to stay in there - thinking she is “safe.” Coming out still feels risky, but each time I do show-up as my authentic self, my gratitude for the world being there is so profound I’m moved to tears.

It felt easy rather than queazy to be at lunch with classmates. It felt easy, not queazy to be in therapist role for a fellow “traumatized baby” for our afternoon exchange session of table work. 

When it was my turn to be client, there were different kinds of waves moving through me. I couldn’t stop laughing. Hot, sweaty undulating waves of laughter broke and cleansed my internal shores - nearly the full thirty minutes - while my capable therapist (thanks, Laura, you’re the BEST) tracked wave after wave from my feet through the whole body to my neck and head - watching and sometimes supporting my neck as my back arched and curled. 

At some point Steve, one of the workshop leaders, came over while I was trying to laugh as quietly as I could so as not to distrub the other diads of students who were also (more quietly) in process. He seemed completely unconcerned about the noise factor for which I’m grateful. It’s hard to stifle a head to toe laugh.

He did ask me, “When did you last do this?”

“It used to come up a lot in sessions,” I said, “but I got chastised for it. Therapists told me it was covering over the grief and rage underneath and that I should get to that.”

“I think you did it just before you were born,” Steve said and walked to another part of the room.

Still not sure if he meant the literal laughing part or if the arch and curl of the spine as those huge waves of cathartic laughter moved through me were similar to what happens during the birth process. I’m guessing the latter.

What’s that old cannard? 

When I was born, I was crying and everyone around me was laughing. 

When I die, I will be laughing and everyone around me will be crying.

Ecstatic birth and Orgasmic birth are perhaps possibilities, but most of us seem to come through kicking and screaming - not wanting to leave the other side; not wanting to take up residence in a sensitive body to live in this prickly and torturing world.

For just this moment, I am feeling gratitude for the life I’ve been given. I am smiling and extremely GRATEFUL for the path I’m on and the folks who surround me.

Thank you for being there!