If I could describe pregnancy in one word it would be . . . quiet.
It had been so far a time of great stillness; a stillness I’m not sure I’ve gained from my own merits or a stillness that has been forced upon me as some deep primitive need to protect myself and my unborn child. Figures as much, as I am typically not the still type. Even as the signs of chaos show under my eyes in through aches and pains in my body I still carry on like a masochist, kicking and screaming at all there is and mostly for no reason at all.
This pregnancy however has stilled me in lots of ways and as anyone who has practiced stillness knows, it’s not been an easy trek. I’m afraid I might disappear as I sink deeper and deeper, but another part of me is so comforted by the stillness I don’t have the mind to pull away. Maybe it’s the extra layers of cushiony fat, the seductive slowness fatigue brings, indulging in powerful cravings every now and again, or being pampered on a lily pad by close friends and family. It is quite a cozy time in the big picture, and it makes me squirm. It’s almost too still so recently my brain has been in overdrive making the noisy kind of noise – the kind that keeps you up at night and drags you off in parallel universes mid conversation with someone.
It started when I realized my body for once, has been taken away from me. Quite frankly, it’s busy right now doing other things I have no control over. For as long as I remember I’ve attached my worth to my body. The better I looked, the better I felt and I would be lying if I said I was alone. Being a woman in America is a hard job, not because of others, but because of ourselves, the expectations we place upon ourselves, and the surrender to these expectations in our daily lives. My body was a mirror image of what I was feeling, or rather what I thought I was feeling inside. If I looked great I felt great and if I looked like a lump on a log I felt like a lump on a log – the internet told me so. This toxic yet oddly comforting cycle worked . . . for a while at least. Then through new life it was all taken from me. Funny, many things I like attaching myself to often disappear – a painful gift in search of light because whenever you’re on the lookout for something, you will be sure to have to search for it.
During my self reflective rumination I discovered that there is nothing I can do about my changing body in pregnancy and with no body image to obsess about, I felt worthless . . . a peculiar state of mind for a woman growing a human. I thought if I lost weight and got in the best shape of my life, I would give myself permission to breathe but instead I only became more suffocated by this idea that my body was a standard with which I measured myself. I realized that I was not free. I wondered then, what was next? I wondered if I wasn’t fit Leah, then who am I? I felt like I was starting over with my self identity yet again. I have been down this road before, each time angrily destroying everything I thought was true about myself and at the same time humbly building on what was always there to begin with.
So far I’ve got nothing. I’m just sitting in a pile of rubbish wondering if it’s even time to rebuild. I thought maybe this time around I’ll patiently wait it out with the gift of silence pregnancy has given me. I think I’ll practice giving myself permission to soften – after 30 years of negative self talk I’m tired and I think at least for now I’ll rest awhile and sink deeper. I’ll start to let go instead of pile on. I think it’s time to clean house. It’s time to begin a new chapter, hopefully one with less stipulations and more room to be me – whoever that is.
One day, I tell myself, I’ll get to the bottom of this. Yet something inside me tells me that may never happen, that self discovery is an ongoing process to uncover and explore that which never ends and never dies. I don’t think I would have it any other way because this constant unveiling is the greatest story life ever told.