Sweet Surrender

I sat on the beach this morning and cried. I cried tears of appreciation as the light of the half moon softly glowed in the blue sky. I cried tears of loneliness, yearning to feel the touch of a lover’s kisses on my face.  I could feel his whispers of adoration and desire softly tickling my ear as he swept my cheek with kisses full of tenderness and hunger. 

How can I feel so hungry for touch and connection in a house full of constant tenderness and connection?  They need me all the time.  They want me all the time.  I am blessed to hear the sweet whispers of my adoring 2-year-old daughter, and yet I yearn to remember who I am as a woman, not just as a mother.  I want to hear my moans of hunger.  I want to feel the fire burning in my belly, aching for more of just the right kind of touch to make my body sing.  Instead, I find myself at the beach, running away, so I can have less – less of everyone wanting from me- so I can hear my own needs speak. 

I am lonely in my 14-year-long relationship.  We are friends.  We are not lovers.  We are incredible parents.  We are the ground, sometimes solid, sometimes shaky, that supports each of us to walk towards our next spirals of growth.  We are great in many ways and unbearable in others.  I yearn for a change to occur that quenches my longtime thirst for touch.  I wrap my chrysalis around me and I await this next metamorphosis. 

I don’t yet know the color of my wings, but I do know it is time for me to fly higher than I have allowed myself to fly before.  I am weary of walking everywhere I go, of trying too hard to hold it all together.  I long for the grace of flight and the support of the wind that easefully guides me when I follow my truth. 

It is really hard sometimes to be a mother.  Even though I have heard over and over again not to get lost in being just a mom, I find myself sitting on the beach once again crying my way back to center.  My pattern of giving of myself to the point of exhaustion is etched so deeply in my cellular programming.  In my logical mind, I know there is a way to give that is much more satisfying and inexhaustible.  Despite this knowing, I have to continually re-route, persistently attempting to carve a new canyon that is both sustainable and life giving.  

We are assigned to be martyrs, not designed to be martyrs!  

For how long have you not been touched or felt your sexual appetite ignited and whetted?

How many days, months have you passed by on automatic pilot, day in and day out, going through the motions of being the impossibly perfect mom? 

How often have you felt like you have forgotten who you are when you aren’t in the role of mother or wife? 

We are conditioned on such a deep level to silence our needs and care for all above self.  For many, the conscious connection with creative flow is atrophied.  We can’t even hear its whisper. The degree to which we are willing to self-sacrifice is rewarded by society with a prize ribbon of best mom/wife. In this version, everyone loses!

Daughters of the sun, we are destined to be queens! When we honor ourselves by listening to our desires and acting on them, the whole world changes!!!

I let go and allow myself to be swept under by the tears that have been so hard to cry. I silence the voices in my head that tell me not to cry, to hold it all together, and take care of everything because if I don’t who will. All I care about is the sand and the soft sound of the waves rolling in over the glassy surface of the ocean.  It helps me feels calm, reassuring me that I know how to come home, to myself, and hear my desires singing to me their sweet songs of freedom.

I take in a deep breath and let this wave of confidence and awe wash over me. I stand, brush the sand from my pants, and walk home to the bright-eyed smile of my littlest one.

Dare to Desire -
Kristen