As the years pass one into another, and the child deeply desired does not arrive, some women find themselves holding on very tightly to their story. Holding on, as if with a death grip, to what has become the story of their lives–the failure to conceive.
When we over-identify with one aspect of who we are, we under-identify with the magnificence of the very life that flows through our veins and knocks at every crevice in our being to come in.
I have blogged before about my dog Sophie <Fertility & Frolic: Play, Never Forget to Play>. She is our first child. Sophie started to go blind from a genetic disease at the age of five.
When the darkness began to descend for her, there was a span in time when she refused to venture outside–the light dimming in her eyes and the fear of the unknown rising in her heart. And there were days when she moped, seeming almost depressed, refusing to play. Yet Sophie did not hold on to that anxiety, did not make her defeats become the face she uses to show the world who she is.
A few days ago as I watched Sophie spin around in circles attempting to chase her favorite squeaky she-chicken (yes, they made a partner for her favorite chicken), and occasionally running straight into the couch, or tripping over her sister who wasn’t quick enough to move, I realized the wisdom of my little girl.
When we let go of the story of our failure we open up to the possibility of reveling in the story of the happiness we can find in the day we call today. Yes, sometimes we will smack into unmovable objects, and sometimes it will hurt. Yet we can either use our story to stay indoors, hiding away from the sunshine and making friends only with our fear, or we can spin around and sieze the day–no matter what obstacles lie in our path.
Sometimes we need to let go our our story and just live a little.