Moving Gently Through
A day of bruises, breakthroughs, and listening to what my body and heart needed.
This morning started off a bit heavy. I opened my phone to a saddening text thread, the kind that sits in your chest before you even get out of bed. And then, as if my body wanted to underline the feeling, I fell down the stairs. Hard enough to rattle me. My arms and legs have been sore all day and my heart felt a little bruised too. The Aleve eventually kicked in and helped take the edge off, though I still feel tender and slow. I cannot quite believe I fell down the stairs. In hindsight, it is almost laughable, but only because I am okay.
Before the day fully took off, there was a small but meaningful win. I was rushing to get out the door when Sage asked to listen to Caitie singing “Deck the Halls” one more time. So we did. He went pee before we left, we got packed up, and we were on our way to school. Five minutes into the drive he said, very clearly, that he had to go pee again. I paused, asked if he was sure, and he insisted. I pulled over, set up the trunk potty, and sure enough, he went right away. I felt so proud of him in that moment. Watching him recognize and communicate what his body needs feels like a mini miracle.
Later, after a quick stop at the store for a handful of random necessities, I headed to the gym. Lifting felt out of the question with my shoulder, so I chose what I could. About 25 minutes on the treadmill. Nothing fancy. Just movement. Just showing up for myself in the way I was able to today.
We spent a long stretch of the afternoon sitting on the living room floor, counting colorful rings and working through numbers. Forty five minutes passed quickly, and nap time crept later than planned. When I tried to get us upstairs, we landed straight in meltdown city. Sage screamed and cried for ten, maybe fifteen minutes, until his little body finally began to relax in my arms. I sang to him to soothe his little soul. Eventually, he fell asleep softly and sound.
Today I also wrote about postpartum. About how Motherhood did not just change me, but transformed me. How this season has been one of shedding, stretching, softening, and slowly becoming someone new. I keep coming back to the truth that real healing asks for time, grace, patience, and self love. That every body moves at its own pace. That there is no wrong timeline. The tattoo I got last week feels like a marker for all of that. For who I was, who I am, and who I am still becoming. A reminder that deeper beauty unfolds slowly. I also shared this thought that kept circling back to me. If I ever let you inside the rooms of my heart, know that it was sacred. And if you walked through carelessly, that door quietly closed behind you. Not out of anger. Not with drama. Just with clarity. Some spaces are only for those who know how to move gently.
The evening blurred together because my body is tired. We ate dinner as a family, played, laughed, and moved through our nighttime routine. There was a case of the sillies and a round of Sage Says before bed. As I lay with him, I felt a sharp pain travel from my clavicle up through my neck and into my eye. Part fatigue, part fallout from the fall this morning. A clear signal to stop. Tonight, that gentleness I spoke of earlier looks like rest for me. Like listening to my body. Like laying it all down and trusting that tomorrow will meet me where I am.