You, in Full Bloom.
When I became a mother, I felt myself blooming, and it caught me entirely by surprise. I had bought into the image of the drain-the-life-out-of-you version of motherhood. I anticipated that this handsy, noisy, needy little creature would hollow me out from the inside. I was prepared to join the team of moms clawing our way back to our old selves. There is an unspoken understanding among women that if you are truly a powerful woman, your life will carry on as if nothing has changed. As if your body didn’t just perform the most powerful act of creation on this earth. As if the purpose of your life didn’t change entirely.
Motherhood was nothing like I imagined. It never crossed my mind that instead of draining me, motherhood could fill me to overflowing. As I settled into my role as a mom, I saw a version of myself I loved more than any that had existed before. There was no battle and no race to get back to my old life; my world didn’t shrink, and it wasn't hollow—it was technicolor.
In those early days of motherhood, I had no choice but to sit still, and in that stillness, I felt my roots sinking deeper into the ground, allowing me to stand taller and more confidently than ever before. Unable to go any faster than the crawling pace of a baby, I willingly left behind everything that told me to keep up, and I surrendered entirely to the feeling of my daughter’s chest rising and falling on top of mine. I made the choice every day to ignore the internal tick to rush, to prove efficiency, to declare my victory as a powerful woman.
I am a soft woman. I always have been. I once saw that as a weakness in a world where gaining as much power as a man is the epitome of success. However, motherhood taught me how much power lies in softness. I can be moved to tears watching my daughter's eyes light up as she tells me a story. When I feel her hand find mine in the middle of the night and pull it close to her face, I stop and honor the sacredness of childhood. If I’m sneaky enough, I get to observe her playing make-believe in the yard by herself; it’s the most magical thing I’ve ever witnessed. I have a deep, overwhelming love inside me that has long struggled to fit into this world—a world that’s too fast-paced and demanding to nurture love in all the slow and tender ways it requires. I believed I was too soft and too sensitive for this life, but it’s all that softness that has made me bloom as a mother. My tenderness tills the garden of Willow's childhood.
One day, my daughter and I were painting watercolors on the porch with music playing from my phone. She said, “Hold on, Mom, I’m going to dance.” She danced, I sang, and when we were through, we sat back in the sun and kept painting. That is me in full bloom—Willow and I dancing in the sunlight like all the other flowers.
