‘We are all broken, that’s how the light gets in’
My body is a vessel. It has changed a lot over the past 35 years, but it has always been mine. When I was young, I was ‘thin and spindly’ as my mother said. Shy and withdrawn, my vessel felt awkward. My legs were too long and skinny for my body, my hair too frizzy. The first part of the journey through life in my vessel was spent trying to hide it.
I began to despise my vessel around the time that boys started paying attention to it. They did not respect my vessel, and neither did I. Not on the inside, anyway. On the outside I paid it great care, my vessel was shiny and bright. But on the inside it was becoming dull and dim. There was still a light inside of the vessel, but there was a lot of dust and grime building up.
I learned to release that dust and grime out of my body in harmful ways. I didn’t realize that as I was “getting rid” of these feelings, I was adding layers of hurt, damage, and pain to my vessel. I continued on the journey through life here on earth, even though at times I wished it were over.
When I became pregnant, things finally changed. My vessel was no longer a burden. My vessel was a home for a new beautiful ray of light. I could feel her light filling me up with every week that passed. I watched my vessel morph and change into someone I didn’t recognize. I gained about 85 pounds during those nine months. As I stared at myself in the mirror, I saw a stranger. But it was finally a stranger that I wanted to know better. A stranger that I appreciated. A stranger that was about to usher a beautiful new soul into this world. She was a part of my vessel, in her own little vessel within mine. I wanted to keep her safe. I wanted to teach her to love her vessel and take care of it.
After 36 long hours she finally emerged from the vessel. Into this world, blinking and crying. I recognized her immediately, like I had known her forever. I held her to my chest, and finally felt what it was like to arrive at my destination. I was home.