I Just Needed a Little Break
A Nightcap about slamming the pause button and meditating on the echo.
I gave birth last June and for the first time since, I feel like I’ve reunited with my body.
The psychedelia of birth permanently altered my chemistry. For the past ten months, I have floated in a strange cauldron gulping potions of both euphoria and madness. The wooden shelf where all my tinctures are stored is crumbling; the jars are askew, petals litter the chaotic space of my brain apothecary and I have no interest in cleaning it up. I toss all my ingredients in at once and revel at the bubbling. What am I if nothing but a great mess of all of it?
Stir vigorously. Serve warm. Or cold. Or whatever.
My hair is on fire; the dog is manic, but so am I. The baby won’t stop crying. The tower of plates is shattering beneath the sink. The glass is skittering underneath the refrigerator. My husband is Kintsugi. My skin is lacquered in gold-painted scars, but all I see are the cracks.
I just need a little break.
I stare at my sleeping cherub in the crook of my elbow; her legs hang over my forearms looking just like they did in the first picture I took of us in the hospital mirror. Baby thighs chubby, shins long, limbs new and unknown to grass and dirt and flowerbeds.
And then it all recycles, just like this, every week. Sometimes every day. Sometimes every hour. A pendulum swing of rest and riot.
I’m running a business; I’m quitting a business. It’s too much. Cancel this. Cancel that. Quit this. Quit that. Wind down. Transition out. Don’t forget to mother. Don’t forget to woman. Don’t forget to human.
I just need a little break.
I lay on the floor and become a great, unmovable mountain summited by a tiny climber. She slaps the sagging skin on my stomach that built her. She laughs. She squeals. I join her. I throw her into the sky and I feel weightless even though I am heavy because this joy is all she knows.
There are too many distractions so I stop committing to anything. Everything is always too loud. Everything is always stealing time. I can’t find an outlet that doesn’t exhaust me. My head is as empty as my womb.
I just need a little break.
I rediscover my dreams and I map a new direction to meet them. I stop writing so I can observe. I reassemble. I become my own martyr except no one has to die for me and I certainly don’t have to.
I stop trying to do everything. I plan my escape. I do it quietly. I meditate on the sooting sound of a transcendental echo. It sounds like my baby’s belly laugh.
It was once April, and I disappeared beneath early Spring air in the arms of a tulip bulb root. I was nurtured by the reminder that everything is temporary. That’s all I needed to remember.
It is May now. The tulips are gone. But I am not.
I just needed a little break.
💌
Xo,
Violet Carol
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Teach me your ways taking a break, doing less. I feel since becoming a mom, I do more, I cannot seem to find the wind down button. I was literally writing about this before I read your post, and it feels like a sign.
Amazing. Good to read your voice again. I started writing a 4-part article about my Human Design. As I was tackling this last night, I was retelling my experience with needing space as a new mother, particularly space alone, by myself. And then also, learning to say no, cancel, shift, pause, pivot, change my mind - all things that helped me reclaim my own personal power and respect my ever-changing needs. Looks like you spent the last month deep with your own ever-changing needs. Great job, mama. ♥️