I look at my tired eyes through the water-spotted mirror.
Lines reach out from their edges like little gorges forging their own direction. Each has its own story; each has its own memory. The years increase their presence, etching moments into my olive skin.
My swollen eyes bloat their creases, softening their expression. My eyes are puffy, tired. They’re weary from the endless days of observing and watching, constantly moving about their work. Some days they want to close up shop and hang up a “Gone Sleepin’!” sign. They tire from the constant need to keep up.
This day they wish to rest—to ease back into their cocoons and close the lid. They want to pause, instead letting silence flirt with my ears and soft blankets wrap my body in warmth. They want the solitude they often miss.
Through the darkness I search for that place within where “I” reside. Where my hopes, my dreams, and my purpose dance in harmony; where that which brightens my soul shines and drives each of my steps. Some days it’s dimmed by the fogginess of exhaustion, when all that aches screams louder than my heart.
The struggles, the continuous back and forth that leave me standing still yank at my tender heart’s hope. Their turmoil knock out the momentum guiding me forward like a swift kick to the gut. Sometimes, these stand-still moments give me time to pause; to silence the instability and soothe my bruised heart. It’s a moment to quiet the world outside of me and listen to the ache; to embrace the wound and hold it close so I can absorb its intensity and soften it with tenderness.
I seek the quiet. I shut out the confusion for a few moments. I steady my breath. I hush my inner critic. I forgive my mistakes. I find the quiet so I can remember what propels each forward step on the murky path before me.
I take a moment to remember me.
I open my eyes. They’re still puffy. They’re still tired. But a sparkle gleams behind their weathered beauty.
Amy Cushing is a stay-at-home mom, yoga teacher, and writer who is bravely navigating the waters of parenting with her ever-patient husband and two small tots who run the asylum. She is a writer and editor for Be You Media Group and a contributing writer for elephant journal. She also gives her two cents on her website. Connect with Amy via Facebook or Twitter.
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