Pick a door, any door, plain or ornate. Make it in your mind, so that when you open that door, boldly and without hesitation, you find the rest of your entire self, resting in cast off parts.
Make it be, that you are decisively looking in on the residue of your life, immediately accessible, with no nonsense, and no need to be coy. Don’t look too long, lest you start to close the door. There is no closing the door on yourself today.
Today, you’re going in there. You’re going in there, because it is Mother’s Day, and if you don’t get in there right now, and stop wasting your time, you’ll continue to waste many more minutes…days even, of the life you already have the rights to. Sometimes, we have to cut to the chase–on Mother’s Day, we are our own mothers, too, and your mother would agree with me.
Step in, full of confidence; be so self-assured, that all of the parts of you…even the ones with a mean bone, have no choice but to fall into the sweetest placitude and awe. “She’s here for us,” they whisper, and some say it sweetly, and some say it with fear, for this day has long been coming, and there will be no more hiding, and that feels frightening.
Nevertheless, you’re going to walk in there, and with a certainty reserved for the masters, you’re going to gather up all the bits of yourself: the burnt, the sparkling, the bruised, the withered, and the exuberant. Oh, and the very, very untenable, too.
You’re going to take each one by the hand, and turn face to face, without guilt, shame, apologies, or small talk, and you’re going to take them back in. All of them. And when that fear of your own fullness blooms again, and parts of you run back through that door, you will remember:
Right back through.